


i wish that it could be like that (why can't we be like that?)

by confettitty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexuality, F/F, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rehab, Smut, Some Fluff, akaashi is a Hot Af model, alcohol use, bokuto and kuroo are actors, bokuto and kuroo are best friends who ride and die together, bokuto is Bad at Feelings, brief mention of addiction, everyone is crazy rich, jokes i edited it now that im not sleep deprived, just a little bit, kenma's role is a secret for now kek, kuroken is a side pairing, kuroo is Also Bad at Feelings, no beta we die like men, only for a little bit tho, theres cute stuff too though :(, they're basically all famous celebrities, whoopsies, wow theres more angst than i thought !!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23925814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confettitty/pseuds/confettitty
Summary: Koutarou Bokuto, a popular actor rising through the ranks in the Hollywood scene, doesn't expect to meet top-model Keiji Akaashi.What he doesn't expect, either, is to fall in love so deeply it almost ruins him completely.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 58
Kudos: 206





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i'm starting another fic omg... quarantine has really been getting to me  
> this time, featuring bokuaka !! kek i love them so much  
> hopefully the updates on this one won't take too long, since my inspiration is crazy high for this one. it also should only be a few chapters, so enjoy!

Bokuto has always been proud of his own work. He’s happy people enjoy his roles in the vast types of films he’s been in, and he adores his supporters and fans more than anything else. He enjoys all the celebrations of his own success and has never missed a single event in his life, but for some reason, he feels uncomfortable in his suit today and the hard seat numbs his butt more than it has ever. This newfound discomfort is surprising, and Bokuto finds himself wondering when the premiere will be ending.

As though the Gods read his mind, the credits roll in with the familiar outburst of applause. Bokuto excuses himself from the cinema as quickly as possible after hurried words of _thank you_ ’s, handshakes, and glamourous smiles. When he makes it to the washroom, he twists the tap and allows the cold water to run over his face. It feels refreshing on his skin and helps cool his head. For once, he’s glad that his makeup is waterproof. He’ll have to thank his makeup artist the next time he sees her.

Bokuto stares in the mirror, inspecting himself for a moment. His chest heaves and his eyes look unfocused like he's about to come down with a cold. He considers calling Kuroo, he knows how to help him. But why is he feeling like this, right now of all times? Is he perhaps getting sick? If so, should he still go to the afterparty? No, he should. This is one of the biggest films of the year, and not to mention he has the lead role in it. People would be dismayed to discover he had not bothered to appear, never mind whatever excuse he can pull. The media will _not_ let him get away with it.

The washroom door opens and he instinctively straightens out, back of his hand wiping the last of the water droplets off his chin. A man appears around the corner, and they make eye contact for a split second. The back of Bokuto’s mind beings to turn because he knows he’s seen him somewhere before, but he can’t find a name no matter how long he dwells on it.

He’s still thinking about it as he walks back down the red carpet, but hides his thoughts well while people stick their hands out asking for pictures and autographs. He gives in to some of the prettier fans, allowing them a couple of selfies and quick signatures before he hears a familiar voice shouting out his name.

Kuroo walks up to him with his hands buried in his pants pockets. He gives the line of people a dazzling smile before they guide each other farther down the carpet. “Any plans before the afterparty?”

Bokuto raises his hand to look at the time. They’ve got a couple of hours. “Not at all. You tryna do something?”

“Hell yeah.” The sideways smile on Kuroo’s face tells Bokuto exactly what the slightly taller man is up to. They get into their designated car and head straight for Kuroo’s penthouse. During the ride, he wonders why he’s so hung up on someone he doesn’t know—someone he had met eyes with for a mere moment.

  
  
  


The high hits him almost immediately. Bokuto leans back up to rest his head against the cushion of the couch. Kuroo gets up to lower his blinds before plopping down next to Bokuto.

“You good?” he asks, pulling his phone out to play something through his Bluetooth speakers.

Bokuto responds, “Oh, _yeah.”_ It’s been a while since he’s done it, so it feels absolutely euphoric. He raises his head suddenly. “I wasn't exactly feeling the greatest today. Felt a little antsy, not sure why."

Kuroo hums, putting on a song by Jhené Aiko before tossing his phone off to the side. "It was a pretty big premiere, even I felt nervous for you. But you're good, though, right? Is it helping?" He gestures to the line of white on the table. Bokuto has never doubted Kuroo; he always knows what's up. There's no wonder why they've been best friends for years.

"Yeah, it is. Thanks, man." There's a slight pause after Bokuto speaks, but he decides to bring up something else that's been bugging him since the show. "Kuroo—wait, hold on—this is kind of weird, but I, like, bumped into this guy in the washroom after the movie premiere, and I don’t really know his name or know how to describe him.”

“Yeah? What's up? That shit was really good, though, by the way. How long was the production?”

“Prep took a little under three months and post-production took almost a year. It’s not that bad, but it’s definitely one of the longer ones I’ve had,” Bokuto responds before hopping up to his feet and getting a good stretch in. “How’s yours?”

“We’re almost done shooting, so I’ve been super busy lately. I’m really glad I took a day off to make it to the premiere though,” Kuroo says with a shoulder shrug. He follows Bokuto to the kitchen to grab a couple of Gatorade bottles from the fridge, easily tossing one to the white-haired male.

As Bokuto pops the cap open, he asks, “Oh yeah! That guy I was talking about—if he’s at the afterparty tonight, do you think you could figure out what his name is?”

“How do you even know he’s invited to the afterparty?”

“Oh, _fuck,_ you’re right. I don’t know. He looked kind of expensive. He didn’t say hi to me, either. Maybe he’s a model? He kind of looked like a model.”

“He’s hot, then?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Well, we can only hope he’ll be there. Reporters usually try to get a jump on everything. He doesn’t really sound like one to me, according to what you're saying,” Kuroo gives his input after downing almost half of his drink.

“Yeah. Dude, he had snakeskin shoes.”

“Whoa, maybe he _is_ a model.”

The two men make their way back to Kuroo’s large living room and continue to converse—about anything and everything; from Bokuto’s movie production to their future dreams and goals to Kuroo’s current relationship issue.

“He left you on _read?”_ Bokuto asks in disbelief. The high is beginning to wear off.

“Yeah, I don’t really know what to do,” Kuroo responds lazily, picking up his phone absentmindedly, as if hoping to see a notification, and flings it away again.

“Huh. He probably has a lot of people contacting him, though. Don’t get too hung up on it, yeah?” Bokuto grabs his suit blazer off the armchair and makes his way to the front door. “Anyways, I’m gonna go get changed. I’ll see you at the afterparty?”

“Yeah, see ya.” Kuroo holds the door open for him to see him out.

  
  
  


Bokuto flattens out the front of his shirt as he gives himself a look in the mirror. He feels the need to add a little more tonight but pushes back the reason why as he picks up a thin gold chain from his accessory drawer. He pulls it over his head and then clicks a similar-coloured watch around his wrist.

 _This should be good,_ he thinks before making his way out of his residence. The Aston Martin sits under a bright streetlamp, waiting for him to hop in. He gives Kuroo a call asking for his whereabouts as they make their way downtown. They’re one of the later ones to show up since they had spent an hour at the other man's place. That’s all right, though—a later appearance makes for a larger audience.

“I’m almost there. Where you at?” Kuroo asks. He can hear the R&B play through the speaker, a slower melody compared to the Chainsmokers blasting through his own ride.

“I just left my house. I should be there in twenty minutes or so.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you in a bit.”

When Bokuto arrives, the party is in full swing. People greet him at the door and follow him into the main hall where most of the people are. There’s a DJ stationed at the back and two bars set at each end of the room. Expensive leather couches take up at the corners of the room and large hallways that branch out into separate areas. He recognizes some people, but he has his eyes set out for two people: Kuroo and the black-haired male he set his eyes on in the washroom. He doesn't know if he's hear, but he bets all his luck on it if it means he gets to see him again.

“Wooow, look who it _is!”_

Bokuto turns to the voice, face lighting up at the sight of a familiar orange bob of hair. “Yo, Hinata! How’ve you been? Did you enjoy the premiere?”

“Yeah! You looked so cool. The one scene where you were like _woosh!_ and _pow!_ was so cool!” Hinata exclaims. Bokuto can tell he’s already had a few glasses down.

“Yeah, yeah, I know _exactly_ which scene you’re talking about,” Bokuto lies with a chuckle. “You tryna grab a drink with me?”

“Sure! Have you seen Kuroo around? He's usually with you, isn't he?”

They make their way through the crowd with some level of difficulty, but it's to be expected. People stop him to have small talks, most of them on the flirtier side, and they spent almost an entire ten minutes trying to inch closer to the bar.

“Sorry," Bokuto apologizes, "didn’t think there’d be so many people who wanted to chat. But no, I haven’t seen Kuroo. He got here before me so he should definitely be here. Have you seen Kageyama?” Bokuto's tone is teasing, and he almost laughs out loud with at the way Hinata visibly flushes from hearing the mentioned name.

“Uhh, kind of. He’s here and there. Why, a-are you looking for him or something?”

“Ah, not really, I was just wondering.”

Speaking of the devil, however, Bokuto notices a familiar figure of straight black hair and pale skin as they approach the bar. “Kageyama!” he calls. Hinata freezes next to him when the man in front of them turns to look at the pair.

“Oi, you’re late,” Kageyama grumbles. “Who the hell shows up late to their own afterparty? Hi Hinata,” he adds.

"Hi," Hinata squeaks, hands playing with the end of his tie.

“Sorry, sorry, I was having some fun. Have you seen Kuroo?”

“Some fun?” Hinata asks curiously.

Bokuto and Kageyama give each other a quick look of understanding before he replies, “Yeah, I was just jamming out with Kuroo at his place. I needed to relax a little.”

The three of them order a drink before making their way over to one of the reserved sections. Kuroo is already there, glass of expensive gold in hand, talking to the Miya twins. When he notices Bokuto heading toward him, he raises a hand and waves him over.

“Took you ten years, holy shit.” They clink their glasses together before knocking back their drinks.

Bokuto cackles before taking a seat next to him. "Got a little caught up."

The venue is absolutely gorgeous and the dim lights provide a very intimate but comfortable atmosphere. It’s a little difficult to see people’s faces from a distance away, but most of Bokuto’s friends are here already. He’s only a little frustrated he can’t find—

“Oh my god,” Bokuto whispers, “that’s him.”

“Which one?”

Bokuto motions with his head. “Over there, by the bar. He’s by the group of girls.”

“Oh, shit,” Kuroo curses. “No fucking way. Really?”

“Wait, why?”

“That’s Keiji Akaashi. He’s one of the top models in Asia, but he came to the United States a year ago after a modelling agency offer. He’s _big,_ dude. You _sure_ that’s the guy you saw?” Kuroo asks, suddenly sitting up straighter.

“Yeah, I’m positive.”

“Yo… you tryna make a move? ‘Cause if you won’t, then I will,” the taller man jokes, but Bokuto knows he isn’t joking.

“Fuck off, bro,” Bokuto curses with a sharp nudge of his elbow. “Do your best. I’m five times sexier than you. I doubt he’ll pick you over me.”

“Oya, oya, is that a challenge?” Kuroo drawls. “Should we… maybe get another drink?”

Bokuto smirks, eyes trained on the pretty boy in the black suit. “Let’s fucking go.”

He and Kuroo order a couple of glasses of bourbon on the rocks, sipping on their drinks as they watch the crowd. Their focus, however, is on the man a few metres away. He seems to be quite popular with the women, which isn’t surprising. Most men in the industry will have girls on their arms and acrylic-tipped fingers dancing along broad shoulders. Bokuto himself has had his fun, but he's a little more... off-limits now. Open to specific people only. After years of sleeping around, he's learned to choose his partners more carefully.

Akaashi is tall, slightly shorter than Bokuto, it appears, but still rather tall. His hair is black and adorns gentle curls, skin pearly and poreless. His nose is petite and defined, jawline strong with a long, slender neck. Thin lips stretch into a rosy smile, and Bokuto finds him staring at his slanted eyes, thick eyelashes resting upon the highs of his cheeks with every slow blink.

The boy looks up suddenly, straight at Bokuto. Their eye contact never breaks, even as Akaashi seems to be holding his conversation with the women. For the first time in a long time, Bokuto finds himself a little shy, wanting to break his gaze but unable to.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” Kuroo speaks up from beside him, the light from his phone screen illuminating his face. He looks a little concerned, but Bokuto doesn't have time to ask if he's all right before Kuroo is already off, device raised up to his ear. Bokuto silently wonders who it is, although he has a feeling he already knows.

Bokuto’s attention is brought back to Akaashi, who… is gone?

Confused, he blinks out of his strict focus and flicks his gaze across the room. He couldn’t have gone too far, right? He only took his eyes off him for a few seconds.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Bokuto snaps his hevvad to the side and is shocked to find the very person he has been scanning the crowd for standing next to him. He finds himself at a loss for words. which doesn’t happen very often.

“Uh…” is all he manages.

Akaashi turns to the bartender to order a drink, and Bokuto uses this chance to regain his composure. Should he introduce himself? Won’t Akaashi already know who he is? Wait, he should, otherwise, it would seem too conceited. Would it be weird if he knows _Akaashi’s_ name?

“What are you drinking?” Akaashi asks, nodding at the drink in his hand.

“This? It’s bourbon.”

“Straight?”

Bokuto nods and Akaashi sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth. “That’s kind of gross.”

“Are you kidding? What are _you_ getting?” Bokuto jokes, as if offended.

 **“** Rosé, of course.”

“Well, that’s not bad, but don’t you maybe want something stronger?” he suggests, giving his glass a quick swirl around. The ice clanks against the sides before he takes another sip. The coldness warms up his throat with a familiar sting.

“Nope, not the kind of event to get wasted at.”

“It’s my event.”

“I’m well aware.” Akaashi stares him dead in the eyes as he raises his glass of wine to his mouth. After a short moment of silence, he speaks, “I’m Akaashi.”

 _I know,_ Bokuto thinks. “Bokuto. A pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well.”

They stand there, side by side, and jwatch the people. Bokuto wants to talk to him more, but he’s not sure what to say. “Did you, uh, like the movie?” he asks out of the blue and internally curses himself for not knowing how to make small talk when he really wants to.

“It was good,” Akaashi responds. “The production team did a great job. It must’ve been hard work, but," he gestures to the sea of people before them, "it seems like it’s paid off.”

“Yeah, they spent a really long time on it,” Bokuto adds. “Might I ask who you came here with?” It’s an understatement to say he’s curious—he’s _never_ seen Akaashi around before. Someone else must have invited him because it doesn’t seem like Bokuto’s friends are very well acquainted with Akaashi. Otherwise, he’d have seen him around.

Akaashi answers with a hum, “One of the assistant directors had given me an invite. I don’t usually show up to events like these, but he’s a good friend.”

“Sugawara-san?”

“Mhmm.”

Bokuto swears Akaashi is an angel. His voice is velvety smooth, tranquil like a soft ocean breeze. He can probably listen to him talk for hours, but he doesn’t seem like the talkative type, unlike himself. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he musters up some courage to ask, “Do you wanna meet some of my friends?”

The other man blinks, as though a little surprised by the question, but gives a positive answer nevertheless, “Sure.”

They make their way over to the corner where most of Bokuto’s friends sit. Someone gives a low whistle when Bokuto rests onto one of the empty couches. “The star is here, everyone make some room!”

“Go jack off somewhere else, Oikawa,” Bokuto grumbles, sliding over a little bit more so Akaashi can sit comfortably. “By the way, this is Akaashi.”

“Oh, do we _know_. You’re everywhere,” Oikawa pipes up and goes to take a seat on the other side of Akaashi. “I’m Oikawa, very nice to meet you!” he introduces himself with his signature panty-dropping smile. Bokuto internally gags before sending a glare over in the other man’s direction.

“Nice to meet you,” Akaashi responds with a friendly smile.

“Anyways,” Bokuto coughs loudly, “these two are Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu, and that’s Hinata. He’s part of the production team. Kageyama is one of my old buddies, and the ladies are Yachi-san and Shimizu-san. They’re the prettiest makeup artists around.”

“Bokuto-san,” Shimizu says with a straight face, “your flattery is disgusting.”

“Okay, I get it, you don’t have to say it so loud,” Bokuto bites back.

“No, please, say it louder.” Kuroo suddenly appears behind Bokuto, failing to stifle a laugh.

“That’s shithead right there,” Bokuto says with a roll of his eyes, “his name is irrelevant.”

“Not at all, dickwad. I’m Kuroo.” They shake hands briefly before Kuroo plops down next to Bokuto. He leans in close to whisper in his ear, “So you gettin’ some tonight?”

 _"_ Shut the fuck up.”

  
  
  


The afterparty stays at its peak for several hours. People continue to gather in the main hall, looking for opportunities to socialize and mingle with other celebrities. The bar doesn’t stop working, and Bokuto finds that he’s loving the way Akaashi easily speaks with everyone around him. It’s simple, yet slightly guarded, and he wishes to be able to strip layer after layer to discover the man for who he truly is.

Akaashi casts him a glance through the corners of his eyes, and Bokuto pretends not to notice the way his stomach flips in familiar ways it does when he welcomes pretty strangers into the darkness of his room and the softness of his bedsheets. He wants to lean in a little closer, but he can’t be too obvious. Kuroo is the only one who knows of every little thing he does. Everyone else only knows as much as he wants to show.

Eventually the music softens to silence, and the guests’ voices lower to a hushed hum. Bokuto takes this as his cue to stand up, as do half of the other people in his section. They call for the main cast up to the front where they give a small speech to thank everyone for their efforts and supports. Then, they party some more, crowd livelier and music seemingly a little more thunderous. The bars become flooded with people who feel a sudden euphoria from the realization that they’re _here,_ at the movie premiere afterparty hosted by Koutarou Bokuto himself, and allowed a peek inside of the lives of people of fame, glamour, and money.

“A lot of big names here,” Akaashi states when Bokuto comes back to take his seat.

“Yeah, reporters and journalists are annoying, so I tried to limit as many as I could,” Bokuto responds with a slight shrug. They tend to get on everyone’s nerves, and he’s sure Akaashi agrees. It's a little hotter now. His ears ring as he tugs at the collar of his silk shirt.

“That is true. It’s a lot more comfortable with people who don’t set you on a pedestal.”

“Hey,” Bokuto starts—purses his lips in hesitation—and thinks now is a good time considering how almost everyone else is caught up by the journalists at the front, “you wanna step out with me for a moment?”

  
  


The night breeze is refreshing and sends thrilling chills up Bokuto’s spine. The air inside had been too humid and hot with all the sweaty bodies, not to mention the effects of alcohol on him. They had stepped past the crowd and made it down one of the hallways to ascend the stairs to the third level where a grand, splendid balcony opens up to a beautiful, lively view of the city. The sky is clear and the moon is a phenomenal light in the darkness. To Bokuto's dismay, however, the stars are still a little difficult to see from here.

“It sure is pretty,” Akaashi says, leaning forward on the railing. The wind combs through his hair, and he looks like a prince.

Bokuto discreetly glances at him. _Yeah, he definitely is._

“You get used to it pretty quickly,” Bokuto speaks quietly, eyes pulled away from the boy to look over the city lights. For some reason, his heart feels a little heavy as he watches people walk down the streets, go in and out of stores, and run down the blocks. It looks fun when people don’t want to pay extra attention to you for doing normal, everyday things.

“Are you all right?” Akaashi asks, as if sensing his melancholy.

“Of course!” Bokuto clear his throat and beams at the boy. “Are you?”

“Yes, actually. This is much nicer than being back inside there,” he admits. “I was getting a little tired. Events like these aren’t really for me.”

“I can see how. It kinda drains you after a while.” And these are his honest words. He’s grown up going to event after event, and, sure, after turning twenty-one things get a little more exciting with the addition of alcohol, but even then the atmosphere is pretty similar. Loud music and louder people. Bright rooms for socializing meant for popularity boosts and dark rooms for more intimate connections. It’s the same for him no matter where he goes.

“Are you thinking of heading home soon?” Akaashi asks, voice faint with unsureness.

Bokuto blinks. Should he? He could, but he doesn’t want to leave Akaashi just yet. His heart picks up just a little bit before releasing a breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding in.

“Do you want to come with me?”

  
  
  


Bokuto’s designated driver drops them off and it takes them less than a minute to make it all the way into his home. The door slams and he’s glad for once that his residential area is big enough to hold multiple houses far away from each other so that his neighbours don’t hear anything. Otherwise, he’d have hundreds of noise complaints by now. Akaashi is about to say something, but Bokuto refuses to give him the chance by urgently pressing his lips onto the other boy’s. He doesn’t need words right now—he needs _this._ He needs the hands grasping at the front of his shirt; the soft exhales from Akaashi compared to his own harsher ones.

“Bokuto-san, I—”

“Call me Koutarou.”

“What?”

Bokuto presses his forehead against the shorter male’s, their lips brushing against each other. “Call me Koutarou.” He closes the distance again while toeing his shoes off of his feet. Akaashi presses his hands onto Bokuto’s chest to give him a small push backwards.

Panting heavily, he watches as Akaashi bends down to properly remove his shoes and straighten them out at the doorway before stepping into his main foyer.

“Bedroom?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Blinking out of his haze, Bokuto guides him with his hand closed around a thin wrist, upstairs, to the left, then right, and the last door at the end. His blinds are open to let the blue moonlight pour into his room, illuminating just enough for him to stare Akaashi down as he clicks the door shut behind him.

“Holy _fuck,_ you’re beautiful,” Bokuto’s words tumble out of his mouth with a small grunt as he pulls the smaller boy in by an arm snaked around the waist.

“So aggressive,” Akaashi says as if stating his observations openly. He doesn’t seem to hate it, though, so Bokuto takes it as a sign to continue. He dives for the neck, exposed to him with a tilt, and his fingers work on undoing every button hastily. He walks Akaashi backwards until they hit his bed and with Bokuto caging the other male in with two strong arms. His chest and torso lay open underneath him, dress shirt splayed out beside him.

Akaashi’s hands reach up towards his face to gently pull him back down for a soft kiss, but Bokuto speeds it up into a hungrier one, of tongues running along teeth and heated breaths. One of his hands trails upward to massage into the black-haired boy’s head, fingers curling around soft, delicate strands of hair before giving it a soft tug back to expose a canvas for Bokuto’s lips to trace against. He knows better than to leave marks on someone in a similar industry, so he presses quick, wet kisses into the milky skin before trailing lower and lower.

“Get rid of your shirt,” he whispers, mouthing against the skin above his belt. The black-haired boy’s breathing hitches as he pulls his arms out from the sleeves. Bokuto makes quick work of Akaashi's bottom half, peeling every piece of clothing off of his body before getting rid of his own blazer and shirt.

“Wait,” Akaashi suddenly says. Bokuto watches him, puzzled, before realizing what he’s doing.

“You’re _folding_ them? Have you ever had sex before? You’re so weird,” Bokuto says with a chest of laughter, but he helps him fold up his pants before tossing them onto the loveseat by the window.

“I care about my clothes, Bokuto-san.”

“My name is Koutarou.”

“Bokuto-san.”

“You’re challenging me is what you’re doing,” Bokuto whispers defiantly before pushing the other back down into his sheets. “Do you enjoy teasing me? It won’t be fun for you.” He trails his thumb along the underside of Akaashi’s length and indulges in the way his voice cracks with srurpise. Wanting to hear more, Bokuto swallows him, tongue flattened against the skin as he drags it back up. He can feel the quiver of Akaashi’s thighs underneath his palms, pressing him down into his bed. He lets his spit coat him, switching from sucking to licking to jerking. Soft pants and muted, pitchy breaths sound from above him, and Bokuto looks up to discover that Akaashi has his face stuffed in one of the pillows he had picked up.

“Don’t do that, baby,” Bokuto asserts, sitting up. One of his hands slowly rubs the other boy up and down his length while he reaches for the pillow with his other one. The sight before him after he tugs his pillow to the side knocks the wind out of him. Akaashi is _breathtaking,_ with flushed, rosy cheeks and a sliver of saliva running down towards his chin. Bokuto leans down to kiss it away, tongue dragging up to his mouth, where it opens up to allow Bokuto’s merciless kisses.

“Please,” Akaashi whispers breathlessly after he pulling away, and Bokuto swears he’s never been harder.

He leans over him and toward his drawer, where he pulls out a condom and a bottle of lube. He shimmies out of the rest of his clothes before taking the bottle and squeezing out a generous amount onto his fingers. Nudging Akaashi’s legs open, he circles his lube-soaked fingers around the rim, then pauses.

“Have you done this before?” Bokuto recalls Akaashi having never answered his question earlier.

“O-Of course!” the other boy stutters heatedly with a mad flush. His eyebrows remain stitched together when Bokuto slowly slips a finger inside. _No_ _,_ he thinks, _there is no way he’s done this before._ His movements are gentler now. He dips his finger in and out and closely examines Akaashi’s reaction for any sign of discomfort.

“Hurry up,” Akaashi demands, arms slung around Bokuto’s neck. He pulls him down for another messy kiss, and Bokuto realizes at this point that this boy _really_ loves a good tongue battle.

Using it as a distraction, he slides another finger in. The boy underneath him tenses slightly, but relaxes as the fingers slide rhythmically. The third finger is a bit more difficult, and Akaashi tightens up immediately, but he urges him to continue, so Bokuto does. Eventually, the only things Bokuto hears are all the pretty sounds that escape the smaller boy’s red lips.

“More,” Akaashi states, eyes closed as he pushes back against the fingers.

Bokuto slips them out before reaching for the condom and tearing it with his teeth. He pulls the condom out and tosses the packet somewhere on the floor before rolling it down his own, very much neglected length. He gives it a couple of strokes before lining it up with Akaashi’s hole, and then slowly pushing in. He only has his head in when the boy clenches tightly, toes curling in discomfort.

“Relax, baby,” Bokuto whispers, leaning down to mouth along his nose. “If you don’t relax, it’ll hurt more.”

It takes a while, but he eventually gets it all the way in, and Akaashi is a _lot_ tighter than he thought he would be. It almost hurts, but Bokuto pulls back just a little bit to give a shallow thrust, and _god,_ does it feel good.

“You okay down there?” he questions, having a lot more trouble holding than he had expected.

“Yes,” Akaashi manages out, fingers pressed so strongly into Bokuto’s shoulders he’s sure there will be marks tomorrow. He doesn’t mind, though, not at all. “Please keep going.”

Bokuto pulls out almost all the way before thrusting back in. They both moan in unison, and he takes it as a green light to pick up the pace a little. Akaashi’s legs curl around Bokuto’s back as he falls into a more aggressive rhythm.

The moon witnesses them intimately, with Bokuto’s bruising grip on thin hips and pretty fingers dragging long lines down strong biceps. The bed shakes and the bottle of lube rolls onto the floor with a clack, but neither of them pay it any attention, as well as to Bokuto’s covers when they slip off the edge of his bed. Akaashi is nearly there, Bokuto can tell, and small tears drip down the sides of his face when he pulls the taller man to him to cry quiet pleas in a beautiful harmony as he gets closer and closer.

“Please, Bokuto-san, I’m—”

“Koutarou,” Bokuto growls, hand trailing down to Akaashi’s bottom to give it a rough squeeze. “I won’t let you come until you call me by my name.”

A whimper from the pretty boy’s mouth nearly brings Bokuto himself to the edge, but he resists it by slowing down the pace.

“ _Please, Koutarou.”_

With that, Bokuto slams his hips into Akaashi, head dipped with sweat dripping off his chin as he thrusts with desperation for release. Akaashi comes first with a surprised shout, arm flying up to cover his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut as ropes of come decorate his chest and stomach in streaks of white. Bokuto comes shortly after, releasing himself into the condom as he twitches inside the tight heat.

They stay like that for a moment, chests rising and falling with every heavy breath. The euphoric come-down allows for the onset of fatigue in their muscles as Bokuto slowly slips out, pulls the condom off to tie a knot into it, and tosses it into a nearby trash can.

“My shower is over there,” Bokuto gestures to the door on his left while pushing back a few strands of hair that have fallen out of place. “There are bathrobes and towels in there.”

“Will you shower too?” Akaashi asks, sitting up.

“I’ll go use the guest room.” He gets up and allows himself a good stretch and a yawn.

“No, I can use that one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bokuto is about to step out when Akaashi’s next words stop him dead in his tracks.

“Bokuto—Ah, I mean, Koutarou-san… thank you.”

A blush spreads up to Bokuto’s cheeks from his chest and he ignores the erraticness of his own heartbeat before responding, “F-For what?”

“I lied,” Akaashi states, staring out the window. “It was my first time, but I enjoyed it with you. So, thank you.” His voice grows quieter towards the end, and Bokuto has to swallow the lump in his throat in order to say something back.

“I really enjoyed it, too. Stay here tonight, it’s too late to head home, and you’re tired.” With that, Bokuto steps out of his bedroom and makes a beeline to the washroom down the hall. He locks the door and holds himself up on the counter. His heart beats intensely in his ears as he raises a hand to press hard into his chest.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt something like this.

And Bokuto is terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW ARE WE FEELING ABOUT THIS MY CHILDREN  
> bokuto is absolutely shit at feelings, isn't he smh  
> don't worry, it gets even spicier :^) prepare for a rollercoaster of emotions!
> 
> see you next time! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back! i didn't expect to post this chapter today (in fact, i didn't think i would even finish it today), but the inspiration is r e a l high on this one, so be prepared!

Bokuto spends nearly half an hour in the shower. The water runs hot down the bridge of his nose, dripping off his chin and elbows in streams. He exhales heavily and allows the steam to soothe his muscles. The scent of lemon shampoo and teak wood body wash spills out from under the washroom door, and he could have sworn he heard a click from under the burst of the showerhead. With a towel snug around his waist, Bokuto exits the washroom with a smaller one drying his hair.

“Akaashi?” he speaks cautiously, pausing in the silent hallways. His movements still as he waits, but nothing comes.

A little confused, Bokuto prepares himself for what he’s going to expect as he pushes his bedroom door open. His bed is made, a bottle of lube propped up on his bedside table, and window open to wash out the smell of after-sex. Akaashi’s folded clothes are missing, along with anything else that had been on his body.

Just like that, without a word or something left behind that could have notified Bokuto as to why he’s left, Akaashi is gone.

  
  
  


“You could try looking for his Instagram,” Kuroo suggests. He had stopped by in the evening after his day had wrapped up earlier than scheduled, and Bokuto had told him everything, from leaving the venue to Akaashi leaving abruptly.

“I did, I just,” Bokuto hesitates, “I feel a little nosy. What if he just had an early schedule? I don’t really want to get all up in his personal life, you know?”

Kuroo heaves a sigh. “I’m not gonna lie, it’s been a while since I’ve noticed you taking an interest in someone so strongly. Something different about this guy?”

Bokuto blinks, mind running blank as his eyes follow Kuroo’s movements toward his Switch. He’s right: why _is_ he so hung up on someone after they’ve already spent a night? It’s not common for him to want to see someone again after sex, so he feels a little bewildered himself. What makes him the most uncomfortable is the fact that he doesn’t know what it is _about_ Akaashi that he feels so drawn to.

He takes the controller Kuroo offers him and shuffles over to give the other boy some room.

“I don’t know, but I want to see him again,” Bokuto admits. “What are we playing?”

“Smash.”

They play for an hour until Kuroo’s phone goes off with a notification. With a mumbled curse and a quick pause of the game, Kuroo reaches for his phone on the coffee table before unlocking the screen.

“Is that him?” Bokuto asks curiously, leaning over to peek at what’s on Kuroo’s screen.

“Yeah, you wanna watch his stream with me?”

“Nah, I think I’m good. I’m gonna go give her a quick call.”

Kuroo gives him a dissatisfied look but says nothing more because he knows it’s not really his place to deal with matters like that. Bokuto heads up to his room and pops open his balcony. He looks at his phone, the screen opened up to Akaashi’s Instagram profile. He groans in frustration before exiting out of the application and raising his phone to his ears to listen to the few dreaded rings.

  
  
  


Bokuto doesn’t see Akaashi for nearly a month. At first, he had spent nearly every day scrolling through the model’s Instagram, hoping to see _something_ that could give him the urge to finally send him a message, but recently he’s been more focused on work, mind taken off the boy by his upcoming work, photoshoots, and interviews. The amount of events that have been added to his everyday schedule has climbed so high he leaves his house before dawn and gets home past midnight. If he’s lucky, he’ll have some days where he gets home around ten at night, but even then, he crashes the moment his head hits the pillow.

He has no time to be thinking about this boy, but by the time he thinks he’s finally gotten over what he labelled as a short-lived infatuation, he sees him again. He’s standing there, back turned to Bokuto, but he swears it’s him.

“Akaashi,” he says, but the body gives no reaction.

Bokuto glances around them and decides to take a closer step forward since no one is around. The shelves of the library help give them a little bit more privacy.

“Wait,” Akaashi says, flipping through the pages of a book, “I’m almost done—”

“It’s me,” Bokuto says quietly.

Akaashi whips around, an expression of surprise on his face. There’s something else hidden beneath his features, but Bokuto can’t really figure out what it is. Is it relief? Disappointment? He doesn’t necessarily look upset, though.

“Oh, Bokuto-san.”

He ignores the fact that the black-haired male doesn’t call him by his first name. “Why are you here?”

Akaashi blinks, puzzled. “It’s a library. I’m allowed to be here.”

Of all the places Bokuto had thought he would run into Akaashi again, a library definitely hadn’t crossed his mind. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant—”

“What are you doing at a library?” Akaashi asks, running his thumb along the book he has in his hands.

“Oh, uh, I’m here to pick up some books on Russian.”

“You’re learning Russian?”

Bokuto nods. “Yeah, it’s for my next role.”

Akaashi hums in acknowledgement with a slow nod of his head. There’s an air of tension around them as silence settles upon the two.

“Do you have some time?”

Bokuto is surprised at the words, as he had thought the boy didn’t want much to do with him anymore. He takes the chance, though, and pulls out his phone to pretend to look at the time before saying, “Yeah, a bit, why?”

“Care to grab some coffee?” The small smile on Akaashi’s face is both beautiful and dangerous, as Bokuto finds himself falling deeper into a hole he knows he won’t be able to get out of. He doesn’t worry about it at the moment.

The two boys find a quiet coffee shop a couple of blocks down from the library. It’s a weekday, so it’s full of students nursing a cup of something hot in front of dimmed laptop screens. Soft indie music plays in the speakers hanging above their heads as Bokuto and Akaashi settle down in a couple of couches near the gasoline fireplace.

“It’s a nice place,” Bokuto comments, hands cupped around the hot ceramic. It feels good compared to the bite of the chilly fall wind settling in. “Kind of reminds me of my own college days.”

“I chanced upon it a few months back,” Akaashi responds, raising his mug to his lips and giving it a long, gentle blow. “Did you attend college here?”

“I spent most of my college years here. I did a bit of grad studies in Japan before I decided to drop out again. I couldn’t manage school and work efficiently,” Bokuto finishes. Akaashi seems a little surprised by his words, but he doesn’t really blame him. He knows himself he doesn’t seem like the type to pursue education for long.

“What were you studying?”

“Fashion design.”

“Disgusting, art students,” Akaashi states despite having no bite to his word.

“Yeah? What’d you study?” Bokuto presses with a chuckle.

Akaashi hesitates, gaze shifting to the darkness outside the window. “I was in nursing.”

“No fucking way, really?” Bokuto exclaims, a little louder than intended. He pulls his cap down a little lower to prevent more attraction drawn to himself. “That’s really cool. What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. I just thought I could use a little more money so I took up an offer from a modelling agency, and now I’m here. It kind of sucks how much debt students fall into these days,” Akaashi explains. He stares back down into the milkiness of his earl grey tea.

Bokuto leans back, thumbing along the edge of his mug. “Do you think you’ll go back to school one day?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” Bokuto hums. He swallows some of his coffee.

“Are you going to be able to sleep tonight?” Akaashi asks, a genuine look of disgust on his face. “I don’t know how people can drink coffee black.”

“Maybe. I don’t think I was planning to, though. And what do you mean? Coffee is amazing— _especially_ when it’s black.”

The coffee shop grows a little quieter as the night closes in on them. Students have begun to pack up and head home, and the amount of workers eventually dwindles down to one person to close. Bokuto doesn’t think he’s been happier in the past month as he is right now, despite all he’s doing is sitting in a coffee shop with yellow walls with tacky art on them and the aroma of chai leaves and cinnamon wafting under his nose. Akaashi isn’t all that bad at conversations when he warms up to someone, Bokuto notices. He’s glad he gets to witness a little bit more underneath the straight-faced facade he typically holds.

“It was really nice to see you again,” Akaashi says. Their mugs sit empty and cold on the table now, but Bokuto feels full and warm, especially after hearing the other boy’s comment.

“Same here,” Bokuto adds. “I… was wondering why you left that night.”

The bomb drop. He definitely didn’t want to end the night with such a stupid and invasive question, but he can’t help his curiosity. It’s been eating away at him ever since the area had gotten quiet enough for Bokuto to hear his own thoughts.

“I had an early day. I wasn’t sure when you’d be out of the shower, so I had to leave. But I was sure we’d see each other again.”

The worker grabs their attention from her spot behind the counter, reminding them that the coffee shop would be closing in ten minutes. Bokuto whips around, only to see that they were the only ones remaining.

“Shit, what time is it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I completely forgot you had something to do. Did I keep you out for too long?” Akaashi asks with slight urgency in his voice.

Bokuto had lied, he didn’t have anything at all planned tonight. “Oh, no, no. It was nothing important. I much prefer being with you.”

A small blush rises to Akaashi’s cheeks so he dips his head lower, but Bokuto catches it anyway. His heart picks up, and he wills himself to calm down. Why is he feeling like this?

“Should we get going, then?” the black-haired male suggests.

“Ah, wait,” Bokuto interrupts. “Do you think we could… trade numbers? Or something. I get a little bored at home sometimes, so I just, you know, thought we could keep in contact or whatever.”

A small laugh leaves Akaashi’s lips, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

They exchange numbers, but their night doesn’t end there.

  
  
  


Bokuto falls backward onto his bed with Akaashi climbing over him. They engage themselves with a heated kiss immediately, and Bokuto undresses them both eagerly. _God,_ how long has he been wanting this?

Akaashi gives a few tentative strokes before closing his mouth along the tip of Bokuto’s length. He gives it a few licks and slowly inches downward until it hits the back of his throat. Bokuto’s hand reaches down to tighten his fingers into soft black locks. Akaashi makes a muffled noise around the base before Bokuto releases his hold so the other boy can come back up. He coughs a bit, back of his hand wiping the drool off the corner of his lips.

“Sorry,” Bokuto apologizes, voice tighter than usual. “It feels good.”

Akaashi takes him into his mouth again, sucking slowly, as if unsure whether or not he’s doing it right. Bokuto encourages him with a guided hand and low, satisfied groans.

“Come here, baby,” Bokuto says, pulling the boy off his dick and up to his mouth where he licks inside sensually. Akaashi pulls off, face red and eyes teary from having something unfamiliar hit the back of his throat.

“Y-You can call me Keiji,” he says quietly, eyes looking off to the side due to the embarrassment. His bottom lip quivers when Bokuto kisses him again, suckling gently on its plumpness.

“Keiji,” he tries, finding it absolutely endearing the way Akaashi shoves his head into the crook of his neck in an attempt to hide his face.

“Look at me, Keiji,” he whispers, rolling them over so that Bokuto traps him between his forearms. “Look.”

They stare at each other for a short moment, but it’s Akaashi that breaks it. “K-Koutarou,” he whimpers, arm slung over his eyes. Bokuto closes a hand around his wrist and shoves it down into his mattress before leaning in so close their foreheads and noses touch and he can’t focus on Akaashi’s features.

“Say my name again,” Bokuto growls, knee shoved between the other boy’s thighs.

“Koutarou.” It comes out breathy and teasing, and Bokuto has to resist with everything he has in him to not slide right in.

“Koutarou.”

“Koutarou.”

“ _Koutarou, Koutarou.”_

Bokuto pulls the covers over them and the night watches the shadows dance under blue light.

  
  
  


“Hi, welcome! You can take a seat right here, Bokuto-san.,” the interviewer beams, gesturing to the armchair across from her own. Bokuto takes his seat and smiles widely at the interviewer.

“How are you?” he asks, taking a sip out of the glass of water set on the table next to him. He clears his throat to prepare for the interview.

“I’m doing just fine! How are you? It’s a little late, so I’m sorry to keep you up, but we are thankful for the ten minutes we can get of your time,” she says, straightening out her queue cards.

“Ah, no, it’s no problem at all.”

“Shall we get started then?”

The cameraman holds up a signal, and it starts rolling after a five-second countdown.

“Hello everyone. We’ve got Koutarou Bokuto here with us tonight, an impressive actor behind the role of Allen Yuya in the newest hit movie, _“Dark Star Born”,_ which is said to be the movie of the year!” 

The camera zooms in on Bokuto and the movie poster up on the black wall beside him.

“What do you think is going to surprise people who have not seen the film yet?” she asks.

“Well,” Bokuto starts, “spoilers are never, ever good.” The laugh that leaves his lips is genuine and hearty. “But I’d say that the production crew have put their hardest work into this film. Most of a film has to do more with the production than the actual shooting, therefore even I was surprised upon watching it for the first time. Without having to mention the story, the production quality is definitely what will take viewers by surprise.”

“Which scene had been the most difficult for you to shoot?”

The questions are similar to almost every interview, so Bokuto has no problem answering them. Towards the end of their ten minutes, however, he notices that the interviewer has diverged from questions about the movie and is now tackling some more personal questions.

A little confused, Bokuto takes a quick glance at his manager, who gives him a shoulder shrug as though he hadn’t really been aware that these questions were being asked, either.

“Do you think you will ever quit the acting industry to pursue something else?” the interviewer urges, scooching forward more so that she sits on the edge of her seat. “It’s a known fact that you had put a pause on your career earlier to attend college for multiple years. What were your college days like?”

Bokuto releases a loud exhale before putting on a small smile. “I don’t know, maybe? Who’s to say? I kind of just go with what I like, and I currently like where I’m at,” he explains quickly, hoping to get it over with. Are the ten minutes up yet? It feels like this has gone way over the time allocated for the interview.

“What kind of student were you in college?”

“I-I’m sorry?” he sputters.

The interviewer gives a nervous laugh, hand coming up to curl her hair behind her ear. “Well, we’ve all been to college, so we know what it’s like. Did you ever fool around? How does your fia—”

Bokuto stands up abruptly, chair scraping along the floor loudly. The entire room grows quiet, and Bokuto runs a hand through his hair with a slight chuckle of disbelief. “I’m sorry, I think the ten minutes have been up a few minutes ago. I’ve still got a few other interviews to run to. We can pick up next time.” He makes a beeline for the door, his manager following suit.

What the fuck is wrong with those people? Never in his life has he met a crew with so many intrusive questions to ask, especially when this interview should have been about the new film. He’ll be surprised if they even released their interview online. That was absolutely unnecessary.

He wraps up his day quickly with fake smiles before heading home. His manager tells him today should be the last of the busier days. He should have a lot more time off, and Bokuto is _glad._ He really needs it after that shitshow.

His driver drops him off, but instead of going inside and up to his room, Bokuto hops into his Mercedes and drives off.

  
  
  


“Bokuto?” Kuroo asks, coming out of his bedroom in a pair of basketball shorts. and a toothbrush in his mouth “You okay?”

“Kinda,” he sighs, flopping down onto the other man’s white leather couch. “Shit day. Shitty interviewer.”

“Oh shit,” Kuroo curses. He walks over to his television before turning it on. “This one?” Bokuto nods without having to sit up. The interviewer's face is etched into his mind; one look at her and he feels like gagging.

“These guys ain’t shit,” Kuroo says, watching the short interview intensely. “They probably were just hoping to get a big scoop on something personal. That’s fucked up. Should’ve become a stripper.” Kuroo dodges a pillow flying in his direction as he laughs with a mouth of foam.

“You’re disgusting, go back to the washroom,” Bokuto says. While Kuroo cleans up properly and reappears no longer half-naked, he fills up a glass with some ice.

“Oi, pour me a glass too,” the black-haired man calls from around the corner. He comes back with a bag of snacks, and Bokuto pours them both half a glass of whiskey. It’s then that he notices two sets of plates and cutlery in the sink. Fairly fresh, too.

“Did you have someone over?” Bokuto questions, popping a cracker into his mouth.

Kuroo seems to freeze in his seat. With narrowed eyes, Bokuto swivels in his barstool to face the other man. “No way.”

“I was lonely, yo, fuck off,” Kuroo hisses, raising the glass to his lips.

“But it was Kenma, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You finally get through to him?” Bokuto asks excitedly. He needs some good news right now after the unforgivable stunt that had been pulled on him earlier.

“Kinda, yeah. I had to actually show up at his place to get out of his room. He’s always on his phone, but he put it down for me, so I guess that’s a good thing, right?” Kuroo hums, eyes trained on the whiskey swimming in his glass.

“Does it bother you at all?”

“Not really, it’s kind of cute. He’s like a little kid.”

“That’s gross, please don’t say that again, you pedophile.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, you know what I mean.”

Bokuto and Kuroo spend the night playing games, snacking through the pantry, and getting drunk to talk about their feelings openly. He really needs it right now, especially since he’s been spending a lot more time with Akaashi these past few months. They text all the time, even though Akaashi is shitty at responding back sometimes, and they often visit each other when they’re both free from their schedules. Kuroo complains about Kenma always being busy, even though Bokuto is sure it’s the other way around.

“Do you like him?” Bokuto asks.

There’s a small pause of thought from Kuroo’s end before he responds. “What about you? Do you like Akaashi?”

Silence settles upon them save for the R&B playing through the speakers.

“Is it bad if I say maybe?”

“ _Yes,_ dude. Figure out your feelings, there _is_ no maybe,” Kuroo says, kicking him in the leg.

“Fuck, your music is so depressing. I can’t think properly.”

“Are you _fucking me in the dick right now?_ These are the vibes to get you in your emotions. Fuck off with your trash ass EDM, I can’t even hear myself wanting to die when you blast your Cash Cash or whatever.”

“I’ll fuck you in the dick right now if you say that about my Cash Cash one more time,” Bokuto retaliates with a kick back. His phone buzzes right after, so he leans his torso off the couch and slides it off the table to look at it, but not before dropping it onto the floor with a clack and curse.

“Did you finally crack it?” Kuroo asks from where he lays.

“No, shithead,” Bokuto responds lazily before swiping it open. It’s a text from Akaashi, asking if he’s still up. He looks at the time: it’s just past one in the morning.

**Bokuto [1:07]**

ya what’s up

**Akaashi [1:07]**

I miss you. Can you come right now?

Bokuto mumbles a curse under his breath before sitting up straight. The room spins in the dark and he has to squint his eyes due to the brightness of his screen.

“Is that Akaashi?”

“Yeah, he wants me to come over.”

“Go, then.”

“I can’t, idiot, I’m not sober.”

“It’s _fiiiine.”_ Kuroo waves a hand nonchalantly. “Just don’t let anyone find out.”

**Bokuto [1:10]**

maybe, kuroo and i drank tho so it’ll prob takea while

how fast do you think i cn get there if i drivw rigth now

**Akaashi [1:11]**

Are you joking? You can not drive under the influence.

I will come pick you up.

Do you still want to come?

**Bokuto [1:11]**

yes pls

“He’s coming to get me,” Bokuto exhales, relieved, and falls back down onto his back.

“Awe, cute. What a nice boyfriend,” Kuroo says, attention drawn to his phone.

“He’s not my boyfriend, fuck off.” Bokuto kicks him again, this time hard enough for Kuroo’s phone to slip out of his hand and fall smack onto his nose. Bokuto bursts out in a drunken laughter.

“You fucking _bitch.”_ Kuroo gets up and grabs a nearby pillow before slamming it full force multiple times on Bokuto’s face.

“Yo—what the fuck—stop, _stop,_ this is SEXUAL ASSAULT!” Bokuto yells, kicking back. Kuroo falls back into his seat before bursting out laughing, which results in the white-haired male to join in. They laugh until their stomachs hurt until it dies down to a quiet panting. Bokuto tilts his head up to look at the other boy.

“I love you,” he says.

“You’re so fucking gay,” Kuroo says, head rested on the back of his couch. “Love you, too, no homo though.”

“Nah, nah, _all_ the homo.”

“Gross, get out of my house.”

Bokuto’s phone goes off.

“Planning on it.” Bokuto winks, stands up with a stumble, and picks up the call with his phone clamped between his cheek and his shoulder. He leans down to pick up all the couch cushions that have fallen out of place.

“Yeah, I’m on my way out right now.”

He hangs up and pulls his coat over his body, then smoothing a hand through his hair.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Bokuto says, hand closed around the front door handle. He pauses, then turns around. “Tetsurou.”

At the sound of his first name, Kuroo looks up curiously.

“Thanks for today. I really needed it.”

“Anytime, dickwad.”

Bokuto leaves with a big smile and a lightness in his footsteps as he makes his way down to find Akaashi parked by the front. He slides into the passenger side and revels in the smell of citrus and honey.

“Your car smells so good.”

“You smell like shit,” Akaashi comments. Before he can put his car in drive, Bokuto leans over to grab the other boy by his face and plants a long, slow kiss on his lips. Akaashi gives into it easily, hand coming up to curl around his neck, fingers trailing up into his hair, but then pulling away abruptly, causing a whine to slip from Bokuto’s lips.

“Your hair is so hard.”

“It’s called gel.”

Akaashi doesn’t say anything as he finally steps on the pedal, heading straight for his own apartment. Bokuto hooks his phone up to the Bluetooth on Akaashi’s car.

“You got to Kuroo’s fast.”

“I told you, I missed you. Also, please don’t play EDM.”

“Too bad.”

Illenium plays through the speakers of the car. Bokuto turns it up and rolls down the windows to sing out to the streets at the top of his lungs. He dances in his seat, wiggling from side to side and throwing his hands up as far as they could possibly go, although it isn’t very far considering how Bokuto’s head nearly touches the roof of his car.

A small smile adorns Akaashi’s face as he relaxes back into his seat. He steps down on the accelerator a bit more, speeding down the brightly lit streets of nighttime Los Angeles.

They arrive at Akaashi’s apartment complex, and Bokuto slides his arm over the back of the other boy's neck as they head up to his place together. Bokuto stumbles, but Akaashi keeps him in place with a slim arm around the waist and the other hand holding onto Bokuto’s.

“Please take a shower. You will not sleep in my bed like this,” Akaashi says, kicking his front door shut.

Bokuto frowns with a pout. “Take one with me?”

  
  
  


The water is hot on their skin. Bokuto’s hair is a force to be reckoned with, Akaashi realizes, as he rubs shampoo into the boy’s head. Eventually, the gel washes out and it no longer smells like expensive hair product.

“Is this vanilla?” Bokuto asks, leaning forward to embrace the smaller male.

“No, idiot. It’s coconut.”

“Ohh, it smells really good. Like you.”

Blood rushes to Akaashi’s cheeks, and he’s glad the hot steam of the shower creates a good excuse for the pink flush. “Shut up before I leave you in here.”

They get comfy in bed after they dry their hair.

“You look good with your hair down,” Akaashi says, gaze flickering across Bokuto’s features. He raises a hand to run his fingers through the soft strands of white and black. “I never get tired of seeing it like this.”

“You think so?” Bokuto asks sleepily. He shuffles in a little closer to pull the black-haired male into a tight embrace. “I don’t like it down. Makes me look too… boyish.”

“Aren’t you a boy?”

“No, I’m a _man.”_

Akaashi scoffs but rubs his cheek into the warmth of Bokuto’s chest. “No, you’re a kid.”

“You’re like Kuroo, then.”

“What?”

“Hehe, nothing.”

They fall asleep like that, Bokuto smelling like Akaashi’s coconut shampoo, hair down and slightly damp. This is the first time they’ve fallen asleep in the same bed despite the multiple times they’ve been at each other’s places.

Bokuto wants more of these, and he doesn’t want to wake up from this dream anytime soon.

But it ends too soon.

  
  
  


They awake sometime the next day from Bokuto’s phone going off loudly. With an upset groan, he sits up, running his fingers through his bangs as he reaches across Akaashi, who’s slowly waking from his slumber, to grab at his phone.

The Caller ID makes his blood run cold. His heart hammers against his chest so loudly he’s surprised Akaashi doesn’t hear it. He sees the boy sit up from his peripheral before he tosses his covers off him.

“Sorry, important call. I’m gonna step out for a bit, okay?” Bokuto leans down to press a gentle kiss to Akaashi’s forehead before stepping out of the bedroom and into the washroom.

He picks it up before the other person on the other end hangs up.

“Hello?”

The washroom door closes and he clicks the lock in place.

 _“Did you get my messages?” s_ he sounds mad.

“No, sorry, I just woke up.” Bokuto crosses an arm across his abdomen and leans back into the counter. “Why?”

 _“I’ll need someone to pick me up when I fly in tomorrow night. It doesn’t have to be you,”_ she says. It sounds like there’s someone beside her, but Bokuto can’t really make out what they’re saying.

“I’ll arrange a ride for you.”

_“Are you busy tomorrow? Cancel your plans. Let’s go out on a date. I’ll pick your outfit for you.”_

With a heavy sigh, Bokuto runs a stressed hand through his hair. “No, I’m not busy.”

_“Great. Hanging up now.”_

His fingers clench tightly around his phone. He rests there for a minute, regaining his composure. He didn’t think she’d be back so soon.

“Koutarou?” Akaashi’s voice sounds from behind the washroom door. Bokuto pulls his best smile and swings the door open.

“Wanna go get pancakes? I know the best place.”

There’s a halt to Akaashi’s movements when he sees him, but he gives his response with a soft smile, “Okay.”

They take Akaashi’s car into the heart of downtown. Bokuto is quiet throughout the ride, fingers tapping on the screen of his phone and eyes never once looking up.

“You’re not going to play some music?” Akaashi asks, cautious with his words. Something is wrong; Bokuto does not seem like himself.

“Ah, sorry. You play what you want.”

“Is everything okay?” Akaashi tries. “I couldn’t help but hear part of your conversation. You seemed a little bothered.”

“No, it’s nothing,” Bokuto denies, finally deciding to turn his phone off and tuck it inside his pocket. “Probably a little tired from drinking last night.”

Akaashi hums in acknowledgement. It’s silent for a while until he brings up his next question, “Who were you on the phone with?”

Bokuto’s phone buzzes twice in his pocket. They both hear it, but choose to ignore it. He turns in his seat to look at Akaashi despite the black-haired male unable to do the same. He refuses to take his eyes off the road. He could spare him a glance, but he doesn’t know if he wants to. Bokuto’s smile doesn’t look genuine.

“It was no one. Just a friend. Don’t worry about it too much, yeah? Let’s get some good buttermilk chicken waffles and chill at my place later,” Bokuto suggests.

They park around the corner and walk the rest of the block down. People point and stare and giggle. Of course, these are two celebrities walking down one of the busier streets of Los Angeles. At least most of them are nice enough to give them their personal space, save for the few who bounce up to them begging for some photos. They’re mostly for Bokuto, anyway.

“U-Um, could I get a photo with you?”

Akaashi blinks, confused before turning to see a short, Asian girl clutching her phone tightly against her chest. She had spoken in Japanese, so she must be familiar with who he is.

“Of course,” he responds in his native language, offering a friendly smile. She hands her phone to him, and they take a few photos. Akaashi notices Bokuto watching from the corner of his eye, but pays no mind to it.

They have their lunch, well, it’s more like brunch, on the patio of the restaurant. Bokuto was right, this _is_ very good, despite Akaashi’s usual reluctance to eat fried foods.

“It’s bad for you,” Akaashi says on their way to Bokuto’s house. “Gives you pimples.”

“Whatever, it’s worth it,” Bokuto says with a scrunch of his nose.

Akaashi steps into Bokuto’s front door first, and he’s about to ask if Bokuto wants to watch a movie when a familiar voice sounds from outside.

“Yo, Bokuto! Kirika just messaged me saying—”

“Wait, hold up!” Bokuto cuts him off abruptly and takes a quick glance back at Akaashi. “Sorry, hold on. Wait inside, I’ll be right back.” Then he leaves down the steps to meet Kuroo outside.

Slightly concerned, Akaashi takes his shoes off, lines them up, and steps farther into his house. There’s something Bokuto is not telling him, and he doesn’t like it.

“Was that…?” Kuroo asks, apprehensive.

“Yeah, it was. You wanna come inside?” Bokuto offers.

“Later, I need to talk to you. Kirika just messaged me saying her flight has been changed to an earlier one. She said something about a meeting with someone, and that she had to fly in earlier than expected. She’s gonna be here tonight.”

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Bokuto swears, hand on his hip and the other one pulling his bangs back in distress. “Akaashi has to go, then.”

Kuroo remains silent for a bit. “Let’s head in. We can spend the day here, and then I’ll see if I can pull him out tonight. Come up with a good excuse in the meantime.”

Bokuto steps into his house, surprised to find that Akaashi is nowhere in sight.

“Akaashi?” he calls out.

“Up here.”

Bokuto jogs up the stairs, only to find that Akaashi is standing outside of a room he’s hardly touched. His hands tremble slightly as he takes slow steps toward the black-haired male. The door is open, and the black-haired boy makes no move to look at him.

“Akaashi?” he asks again, tentatively.

He comes up behind him, but the man still doesn’t say another word. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he reaches forward to grab the handle of the door to close it, but just as it’s shut, Akaashi’s hand sticks out to force it open again.

A nervous chuckle slips past Bokuto’s lips. “What’s up? Why are you up here?”

Akaashi doesn’t step into the room, he just observes it from where he stands.

“Whose room is this?” he asks, voice with a hard edge.

“It’s just a guest room,” Bokuto lies.

No, this isn’t a guest room. It’s got too many photos in it, like it’s flooded with someone’s life. It still lacks a little colour, like the majority of Bokuto’s house, but it’s definitely a woman’s room. Akaashi’s hands curl into tight fists and he prepares himself for impact. He turns, eyes like stone, and stares straight into Bokuto’s regretful ones.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he states bluntly. “Whose room is this?”

The air falls heavy on them, and Bokuto finds that he’s unable to breathe or give a response. He opens his mouth, only to close it again. Akaashi sucks in sharply, then releases a long exhale. He makes a move to leave, but Bokuto stops him with a hand clasped around his wrist.

“Wait—”

 _“No,”_ Akaashi shakes the grip off of him and continues back down the hallway. “Don’t follow me. Don’t talk to me again.”

Bokuto wants to chase after him, but his feet stay rooted to the ground.

Akaashi leaves again, and this time, Bokuto doesn’t know if he’ll ever see him again.

  
  


Akaashi slams the door to his car, steels his composure, and drives off blindly, not caring that he’s way above the speed limit. It isn’t until he finds a quiet road where he stomps on the brake. He slams his fists into the steering wheel and cries. No one is there to witness his sobs, the hot rivers running down his chin, and the white, tightened knuckles coupled with the crescent-shaped marks in the palms of his hands.

For the first time in a long time, Akaashi lets himself cry because _Bokuto has a fiancé._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kek... who would've thought? comments are appreciated!
> 
> see you next time! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a bit of a shorter chapter since i wanted a clean cut-off, so the last chapter will definitely be longer! really sorry this took so long aaa i had suddenly thought of something else to write (bokuaka again because we can never have enough of them in this world) which you can find here!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998975/chapters/57730987
> 
> (shameless promotion LOL)
> 
> anyways, please enjoy this chapter! it's a little slower and less eventful, but i promise it's all build-up <3

The sky is blue and the sun shines down on Bokuto’s body. It’s a stark contrast to how he actually feels and he hates that he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. He couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how much he tossed and turned. The blankets felt hot throughout the night, even with his windows open. He felt an unfamiliar ache in his chest and wonders just how long it’s been since he’s felt something like this. High school? Or had it been college? Either way, it had been years ago and even now, it feels unsettling. He sprawls his body on his sheets before closing his eyes, hoping to get at least even a little bit of rest.

Things don’t exactly go his way, though. A sharp knock on his door tells him Kirka invites herself, tossing something on his bed. He ignores her, even as she walks into his closet to dig through his clothes. “Get up,” she says after a couple of minutes, setting his clothes down on the foot of his bed. “I only need you for a few hours, so you can go see your boyfriend after.”

Bokuto snorts through his nose, eyes enveloped in darkness. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Although, it sure sounds nice. He thinks about announcing it to the world, introducing someone like Akaashi as his boyfriend. It’s a comforting thought, but the realistic side of him punches him in the gut like a rude awakening. Akaashi is so unreachable at this point. He doesn’t know what exactly happened, but he must have figured out he has a fiancé. Therefore, Bokuto has fucked up, and greatly, at that.

He hasn’t sent him a message yet, choosing to give the boy a little bit. As much as Bokuto wants to set off to look for the other boy, he’s not an asshole. Akaashi didn’t want him to talk to him—the least he can do is respect his wishes a little. He doesn’t know how long he can hold up, however. It gets harder and harder with every passing minute, the weight of his mistake eating away at him from inside.

“Doesn’t matter,” she responds, arms crossed as she stares down at him. Bokuto squints an eye open, feeling the weight of her gaze.

“What?” he asks, sensing her hesitation. She takes a seat at the edge of his bed, not facing him.

“I’m thinking of moving up the date,” she starts, voice quieter than he had expected.

Bokuto sits up slowly, back pressed into the headboard. “To when?”

“Three months from now,” she responds, eyes trained on her grey acrylic nail. Bokuto’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide with surprise. His eyebrows furrow together, arms tight across his chest.

“What? That’s too soon, I can’t—”

“We have to,” she says stubbornly, suddenly on her feet. He notes the tight curls of her fists, nail digging into her palms. “I leave early November, and I’m leaving for a long time this time.” Bokuto looks down into his lap.

“I understand,” he says, and he does. He just doesn’t like it—doesn’t like their whole situation one bit. He’s sure she’s struggling, too. She leaves so he can change, albeit a little reluctantly. He takes his time getting ready, appearing in the living room in a dark blue suit and pink silk shirt. She’s wearing similar colours: a pink tube dress with a blue blazer around her shoulders. She looks up from her phone and uncrosses her legs to stand up.

“Are you ever going to get rid of that hideous hairstyle?” 

“No,” he responds, hands in his pockets. “Let’s go.”

He drives them downtown, turning the music up a little bit more because he can’t stand the obnoxious typing from beside him. “Who are you talking to?” he asks, not because he’s really interested, but he finds the silent tension a little too uncomfortable for his liking.

“Nobody,” Kirika chips, tucking her phone away. He parks somewhere before they reach the busier parts. They can walk the rest of the way down. She had suggested stopping by a coffee shop before going to the shopping centre. People crowd them almost instantly and, although it’s a normal occurrence for Bokuto, it reminds him of when he had gone out with Akaashi. It had only been a day since, but it feels like forever ago. They put on their prettiest smiles, but Bokuto’s eyes remain tired and droopy behind his sunglasses. His hand is itching for his phone, but it’s not a good look, especially when he’s out with his fiancé. He excuses himself to the washroom while Kirika orders them a couple of coffees.

Leaning against the locked door, Bokuto ponders for a whole minute before sending Akaashi a text. To his surprise, a response comes almost immediately.

**Bokuto**

[12:14] akaashi i’m sorry

**Akaashi**

[12:16] For not telling me you have a fiancé?

**Bokuto**

[12:16] it’s complicated

[12:17] akaashi please, will you let me explain?

**Akaashi**

[12:18] I don’t care. You had months to tell me. Whatever you want to say, save it. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, Bokuto-san.

**Bokuto**

[12:18] i’m sorry

**Akaashi**

[12:18] Please do not message me again. Goodbye, Bokuto-san.

**Bokuto**

[12:18] please

[12:19] akaashi

[12:20] akaashi?

  
  
  


Akaashi no longer responds to Bokuto’s messages. He doesn’t care that he’s locked himself in the washroom for more than five minutes. He doesn’t care that there could be people outside, waiting for him to get out. He doesn’t care that he’s making Kirika wait. All he cares about is the dull ringing of his cellphone, foot tapping impatiently as he waits for Akaashi to pick up, but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries again, and again, and again until an automated voice tells him the number is no longer reachable. He has blocked him.

Perhaps Bokuto had gone too far. Maybe he should have given him more time. Maybe Akaashi will never unblock him, and he’ll never hear from him personally again. A knock on the washroom door breaks him out of his train of thoughts.

“Bokuto?”

He swings the door open, forcing the frustration off his face, but she notices it anyway. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “we can go now.” They leave the coffee shop with small waves and dazzling smiles, Bokuto’s hand in his pockets. His focus is on the phone sitting in his pocket, fully aware of the lack of notifications. Has Akaashi really given up on him? Even after all the time they’ve spent together?

“Are you even listening to me?” Kirika asks, wrists flicking through a section of the women’s dresses. She side-eyes him, probably noticing his lack of attention.

Bokuto blinks. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying we could have our honeymoon in Hawaii. If you don’t like that, we can do Greece,” she explains again, sliding something off the rack. She holds it up but doesn’t bother taking a glance in the mirror.

“Hawaii’s fine,” he responds. She seems absorbed in the details of the dress. It doesn’t seem like anything she usually wears, which Bokuto finds odd but doesn’t comment on. She hands it off to a sales associate before continuing her walk around the store, talking about the details of their wedding day. Bokuto hums, partially invested. He doesn’t really care. She does all the planning, anyway. He kind of just goes along with everything she says.

She picks off a shirt, staring at it, then hands it off. “Isn’t that a little too big for you?” Bokuto asks, watching as the associate walks away to add it to the small pile.

“It’ll shrink,” is all she says. It’s a little suspicious, but it doesn’t matter. They finish up in the store and she makes a few phone calls in preparation. Bokuto can’t wait until these next few months are over, thumb tracing the lines of his phone.

  
  
  


The wedding isn’t supposed to be very big, but it does garner a lot of attention from the media. The weeks leading up to it are all everyone can talk about. Kuroo has been bugging him about it nonstop, too. Akaashi has never left his mind, however, constantly reminding him he had let someone very important to him get away. He’s always searching for him; always hopeful that one day he would just show up outside of his door. He had stopped by the library multiple times a month, waiting between the shelves thinking Akaashi might just turn around the corner. He has driven to his apartment, knocked on the door, only to discover that somebody else had moved in. They didn’t know who Akaashi was or where he might’ve gone. His posts on his social media are limited and give no clue to his whereabouts. It’s like he slipped through Bokuto’s fingers, disappearing off the face of the planet.

“So you’re just going to stare at his Instagram photos all day?” Kuroo asks, adjusting the tie on his suit. Kirika is currently in her own room getting into her gown and her makeup done.

Bokuto shrugs, having never felt as defeated as he does now. “He blocked my number. My texts and calls aren’t going through anymore. It’s not right to persist him on Instagram, too.”

“You’re heartbroken,” Kuroo states. Bokuto stares at him with a small glare but doesn’t deny it. It had taken him a long time to somewhat get over the fact that Akaashi seriously isn’t thinking about coming back, and he’s still having trouble coming to terms with it now, but every mention of the boy in question twists his heart because _yes,_ he is indeed heartbroken.

“You need to let go of Kirika.”

“You’re telling me this on my wedding day?” Bokuto tugs at the collar of his shirt, not wanting to heat up too much. He turns down the thermostat dial, sitting down in one of the chairs. Kuroo heaves a frustrated sigh.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have done it sooner.”

“You don’t understand, dude,” Bokuto groans. “It never _felt_ like I needed to do anything. Nothing felt different. We hardly do anything, she’s never there, and it just—didn’t even feel like there was anything going on. I almost _forgot_ about her, Kuroo.”

“Whatever,” Kuroo pushes himself off the wall he’s been leaning against, “I don’t know how to help you anymore. You’re going to push yourself deeper and deeper into a hole that not even I can help you out of. I’m gonna go use the washroom.” Bokuto is left alone in the room, face buried in his hands. The ceremony starts in an hour and all Bokuto wants to do is drive off somewhere far, far away where no one will recognize him. The heels of his palms dig into his eyes, willing the tears to stop. Where in the world has Akaashi Keiji gone?

The ceremony goes by smoothly. Bokuto feels like he’s playing a character of a film. He smiles brightly, forces the tears in his eyes, and kisses Kirika with so much passion it fools everyone in the room. The smile she returns is beautiful but, for a split second, Bokuto pretends it’s Akaashi standing there instead. It makes it a hundred times more bearable while adding a hundred more tons to his heart because he knows he can never have the mentioned boy in his arms like this.

They make the headlines immediately. They’re posted all over magazines, people are mentioning them on all their social media accounts, and celebrity news is blowing up wildly. Bokuto wonders if Akaashi knows; wonders if the boy keeps himself updated like Bokuto does with him.

The venue for the after-party is pretty but Bokuto is too tired to appreciate it. Akaashi would hate it, though. There are still too many people and the music is loud. He would’ve liked something small; something more comfortable, with just their closest friends and family. A small smile dances on his lips. Even during his wedding, all that fills his mind is the black-haired boy.

“You seem a little distracted,” Kageyama says, champagne flute in his hands. “Did you and Kuroo get into a fight?” He must have picked up on the tension. It’s not hard to tell, though—Kuroo and Bokuto are always joined at the hip, but they have been avoiding each other all night.

Bokuto offers his best smile but it comes out as a slight grimace. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “a little tired, I think. Don’t worry about me too much, I’ll be fine.” It’s a complete lie. He hasn’t felt fine in months; hasn’t smiled genuinely since the day Akaashi left.

“If you say so,” Kageyama shrugs.

Bokuto swirls the dark liquid in his glass, then knocks it back. He knows his goal shouldn’t be to get drunk otherwise his thoughts would consume him tonight, but to hell with it. It’s his wedding night. If he doesn’t drink now, he’ll probably just pull out his own liquor at home. Kirika comes up to him, reaching for the empty glass to put it down somewhere.

She leans down to whisper in his ear, “Don’t drink too much. Come dance with me.”

Bokuto exhales slowly through his nose. He must’ve gotten up too fast, though, because black spots begin to dot his vision. He blinks, shaking his head. Kirika has a firm grip on his arm in case he falls, and he’s thankful for it, even as they make their way into the crowd. People spread out like how Moses parts the Red Sea to make room for the bride and groom. Bokuto’s hand rests on her waist, his other one clasped gently around her. They dance like they had rehearsed, elegant, happy, and everything anyone else can want, but they know that they’re anything but. Kirika seems a little distracted, too. The darkness helps mask it but, from this close up, he can see the haze underneath the blackness of her eyes.

“What’s up?” he asks, voice low enough for just her to hear.

“Huh?” she looks up at him, surprised. “Oh. Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible actress,” he muses. They sway with the music, turning in circles. Her head rests on Bokuto’s chest. Had she not been wearing heels, she would be inches shorter. To outsiders, it’s endearing. To him, the fact that he has to lower his head every time he looks at her is a reminder of how much he misses being able to look straight into Akaashi’s eyes without having to crane his neck so low.

“That’s why I don’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter,” she says back, smiling at the people in the distance. “Don’t forget to smile.”

“I’ve _been_ smiling,” Bokuto responds.

“Good. Put on a good show.”

The night ends eventually, but it feels like hours upon hours of waiting. He hasn’t spoken a single word to Kuroo and he’s been avoiding most people while emptying glass after glass of bitter fluids. Kirika has to help him into bed when they get home, but Bokuto doesn’t fall asleep immediately. He watches the ceiling spin, heart twisting uncomfortably when he hears a loud, genuine laugh from down the hallway. Kirika sounds happy talking to whoever she’s on the phone with.

Bokuto wonders why he can’t be like that as he drifts off into a bottomless slumber.

  
  
  


They settle into their hotel suite. The curtains do nothing to prevent the spill of hot sunshine from outside. Bokuto hasn’t visited Hawaii in a long time. The last time he had been here was for a specific scene in one of the films he had participated in. Would Akaashi like it here? Maybe the heat is a little too much, but he’ll probably enjoy this more than the city buzz most big cities offer.

Their honeymoon is mostly uneventful. They head out for a few hours a day to tan on the beach, go surfing, climb mountains, and eat at expensive restaurants. Kirika always has a smile on her face. She makes it look so easy. How does she do it? Why can’t he?

“I’m thinking of moving to Malibu,” Bokuto brings up during dinner. Their server stops by to refill their waters, drawing a word of gratitude from both of them before returning to their conversation.

“After I leave?”

Bokuto nods. His food tastes bland, as most food does these days. Nothing seems to make him happy anymore. He knows it isn’t Kirika’s fault. The blame is entirely his, it’s just—how does one get out of a slump like this? How long will it take for him to wake up with a smile on his face again? How long until he stops indulging in everything in the liquor cabinet? How long will he have to stop thinking about _him?_

“May I ask why?”

“I just thought it’d be nice to have a change of scenery. Beverly Hills is a little too busy, anyway.” Truthfully, it’s because Akaashi had mentioned how beautiful the houses in Malibu are. They had spent their evening at the beach, toes digging into the sand as they watched the sun set. Akaashi had told him how nice it would be to wake up and fall asleep with such a spectacular view like this. Bokuto’s heart had swooned and he made himself the promise to give that to him.

“That’ll be nice,” she hums, glass of wine raised to her lips.

Their honeymoon ends in a week and Bokuto sees Kirika off at the airport. She’ll be gone for a long time—he doesn’t know how long that means, but it must be a while. She doesn’t look back when she walks away, black cardigan flowing behind her, and Bokuto stands there alone, watching her figure grow smaller and smaller.

Maybe Akaashi has left California, too.

  
  
  


Akaashi watches the sun reflect off the waters. The ocean breeze sweeps through his hair like it’s caressing him, telling him everything is okay. It’s incredibly quiet here. He can’t hear the cars from here—can’t hear people talk or the loudness of Bokuto’s wedding announcement rubbed on Los Angeles’ busy streets. It’s just his own heartbeat, the cry of distant seagulls, and the wet wash of foamy, white waves on the sandy shore. The sky is a beautiful blend of pink and orange, as if it had been stripped out of its place in a famous art museum to be displayed here, right in front of him. It takes him a while to recognize the wetness on his cheeks.

How stupid, he thinks, back of his hand raised to wipe at the tears. Bokuto is going to become the husband of a beautiful wife and he’s standing here, on the beach of quiet Malibu, crying about a man who had played with his feelings. Akaashi doesn’t like pushing himself into people’s lives, but all it took was one Google search for the many results concerning the white-haired boy and his partner to pop up, and he had done it months too late. How could he have been so easily toyed with? Bokuto’s smiles, his words, his embraces—everything he had given Akaashi—all felt so genuine; so _real._ Akaashi had played right into the palm of his hand where he had been effortlessly crushed by a ready fist.

His phone rings twice before he realizes it’s going off.

“Keiji,” Konoha’s voice spills through the speaker. “where are you right now?”

“Ah, I’m on my way,” Akaashi responds. The air smells like salt and he wants to savour it just a little longer.

“No, no, I’m just checking in on you. Are you… all right?” Konoha asks.

Akaashi turns to head back to his car. He’s not quite sure what to say. The truth is he isn’t, but he doesn’t exactly want to tell him that. He doesn’t really want to lie, either, so he settles for, “Not the worst, but I could be better.”

“Hey, I’ll take you out for some dinner. Everyone really misses you. Do you know how excited Sarukui and Komi got when they heard you were coming back? They’ll probably freak out when they see you,” Konoha laughs. It’s familiar and it grounds him despite the heaviness in every step he takes. His car door pops open and he glances in the rearview mirror as he starts up his car, taking in the beauty of the beach one last time.

“I’ve got to drive now. I’ll call you later,” he tells him, about to hang up.

“Ah, wait, how long will you be back for?”

Akaashi pauses, thumb hovering over the big red button. The palms of his hands grow prickly and his chest aches so much he has to rub his knuckles over it. He doesn’t know—hasn’t really thought about it, but it definitely won’t be for a while.

“Not sure. I’m hanging up now.”

He heads straight for the airport, bitterly wishing Bokuto good luck on his future endeavours as his car speeds down the highway. Akaashi spends his next four years in Japan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you next time! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

The nights are still dark in Japan at this time. The sun has said its goodbye for the day, off to shine its light on another part of the world. Akaashi sucks in sharply, coldness seizing his lungs before being sighed out into a large, white wisp. The sky is clear, a dark, blue bowl hovering above his head, and Akaashi can see the stars from here. Japan will always be prettier. He could never see the stars from his apartment balcony back in Los Angeles. Akaashi’s hands tighten into fists in his coat pockets.

It has been four years.

The amount he has accomplished in the time he’s spent here is unbelievable to some, and it hasn’t been easy, either—but Akaashi wanted it; he _needed_ it.

The wintry wind nips at his cheeks and tickles its way down his neck, leaving the skin pink and tender like Jack Frost had just given him a kiss. Spring is just around the corner but Akaashi isn’t as excited as he should be—he doesn’t want to leave, yet. The chilliness draws a sneeze so violent his whole body tremors. His pace picks up, destination straight to the building at the end of the block. He’s thankful for the warmth that embraces when he pushes the glass door of the yakiniku restaurant open, dainty chime above him signalling his arrival. The sizzling of the grill is the second thing he hears because someone is already shouting his name drunkenly.

“Akaashiiii!” Konoha yells, waving a limp arm off the side of the booth. Akaashi exhales through his nose and mutters something under his breath but he isn’t peeved, not even when he offers an apologetic smile to one of the restaurant servers.

She shakes her head vehemently, telling him, “N-Not at all, Akaashi-san! We’re very happy to serve you!” He dips his head with a small grin before excusing himself to join his friends in the big booth at the end of the restaurant.

“So lucky you’re famous,” Sugawara snickers, looking up from the menu. “Imagine everyone knowing your name.”

His shoulders lift and relax with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not always a good thing,” he responds. Akaashi glances across the table to Konoha who has his head slumped in between his arms, noting how drunk the boy is. There’s no alcohol on the table, though. “How is he drunk?”

Komi explains, “He’s been drinking all day.”

“I see,” Akaashi mumbles, softening at the little sniffles coming out from Konoha’s direction. He feels bad. He shouldn’t leave. It’s not too late to cancel his flight. He can just stay here forever and not have to worry about anything else anymore—well, anything but one thing.

Sawamura orders food and beer for everyone, except Konoha is cut off from alcohol. He looks up with a grumble to look Akaashi in his eyes, then turns away angrily. He knows Konoha doesn’t want him to leave. The other boy had initially been surprised to hear that Akaashi was accepted for a job in the United States, but masked his frustration easily—until now. He’s visibly upset and he doesn’t bother to hide it. Akaashi doesn’t blame him, though. His flight is scheduled in the evening tomorrow. This might be the last time they’re all together like this until Akaashi decides to make a visit back, but he doesn’t know when that will be.

They all cheers, clinking their beers together for his safe flight and future endeavours. Komi lets Konoha have a little sip when he begs for it and Sarukui smacks the former boy in the arm, telling him about how irresponsible and thoughtless he is, to which Komi chuckles nervously in response.

By the time Akaashi has gone through two pints of beer, his cheeks are warm and fuzzy, and he’s blinking slowly as he watches everyone engage themselves in a loud and comfortable conversation. Sugawara suddenly turns to him, garnering everyone’s attention. Akaashi straightens from his slumped position, conscious of all the eyes on him.

“Speaking of me and Daichi, aren’t you twenty-seven now? That’s a little too old to be single, Akaashi,” he teases, then leads forward over Sawamura’s lap, who leans back into his seat to make room with a roll of his eyes. “You know that Konoha has been crushing on you for _years_ now, right?” He isn’t exactly quiet, causing all eyes to shift to Konoha, then back to him.

“Oh my _god,_ Koushi,” Daichi says, pushing the boy back into his spot.

Konoha doesn’t look fazed but he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the topic of conversation, either. He avoids Akaashi’s gaze. Truthfully, Akaashi has known. He isn’t oblivious and Konoha doesn’t exactly hide it. They have a sort of silent agreement that the black-haired boy is thankful for, but he knows the other boy can only keep up with it for so long.

“What?” Sugawara whines, “I’m just saying Akaashi should give him a chance! It’s been _four_ years—are you really still upset about it?”

“Wouldn’t _you_ be?” Konoha pipes up, thick anger boiling under his words.

“Konoha-san,” Akaashi states. He doesn’t want it to pursue. He wants his last night to be good; he doesn’t want everyone to depart sad and regretful. “Lighten up, Sugawara-san. I may be twenty-seven, but that doesn’t mean I’m too old to be single. I… don’t want a relationship right now.”

Sugawara sighs, “I’m sorry. I know. I just want you to be happy, too, you know? Make sure the next time you fall in love, it’s with the right guy!”

Akaashi has a smile on his face, but deep down he knows it won’t be for a long time. Either way, he’s more than content with his current state. He had spent his years here completing his degrees, getting hands-on training, and work experience. Modelling is still part-time work and, even after paying off his student debts, he’s still doing it. There’s something about it that grounds him. Maybe it’s because it keeps him busy when he’s not working his shifts, or maybe some part of him still wants to stay in the buzz of popularity.

Maybe it’s just something he doesn’t want to let go of yet.

Eventually, the night comes to an end with Sugawara having an early shift at the hospital the next morning. He offers to pay for everything despite Akaashi’s persistence, but he’s always lost to the silver-haired boy. Tonight is the same. It’s when Konoha gets out of his spot, surprisingly sober, that Akaashi realizes he has a very large, paper bag in his hands. He hadn’t seen it earlier; the boy must have stuffed it under the table between all the legs.

“Akaashi!” Sugawara pulls him into a tight hug as they gather outside the restaurant. Akaashi brings his arms up to curl around the shorter man. “I’ve never been to New York before, so you better send me and Daichi lots and lots of photos!”

Everyone takes their turns congratulating Akaashi on his new job and wishing him a safe trip. Konoha stands off to the side, staring into the street as if he’s contemplating something. Akaashi can never really read him when he has an expression like that on his face. It’s just the two of them now, so Akaashi walks up to him quietly. He’s about to say something, but Konoha beats him to it.

“Let me walk you home,” he says.

Akaashi blinks, unsure if he should take the offer. “Don’t you have an early shift tomorrow, too?”

“Just this once, Akaashi, let me,” he responds, the look in his eyes practically begging as they flicker between Akaashi’s irises. He gives in, a small sigh escaping past his lips. Akaashi takes the first step, the other boy following up to him until they’re walking side-by-side. Konoha suddenly presses the bag that Akaashi has been meaning to ask about into one of his hands. Akaashi stares at it, footsteps coming to a halt.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for you,” Konoha states, eyes trained on the way the streetlight above them flickers unpredictably. Akaashi stares at him, then drags his gaze down to the bag. Through the opening, he can see a white, glossy box. His eyes shift back up, unsure fingers working the box out of its bag. When he lifts the covers and peels back the tissue papers with fine, gold lettering on them, he freezes. The silence around them becomes five times heavier and the hum of a distant car engine is all Akaashi can focus on before he forcefully slams the lid back down.

“I know you still think about him,” Konoha speaks quietly, voice cracking at the end of his words. The black-haired boy says nothing, sliding the box back into the bag. It burns in his hold—he doesn’t want it.

Konoha finally turns to look at him directly. “I know you’re not over him. I know _everything_ about you, Akaashi. I know you can’t sleep sometimes because he’s tearing you up inside. I know he’s not worth a single second you spend thinking about him, so _please, talk to him._ Get _over_ him. You need to move on.”

“No,” Akaashi’s voice comes out just barely over a whisper. The desperation in Konoha’s eyes is unfamiliar; the pained expression he wears is something he has never seen before. “I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Konoha pulls at his strands in frustration. Then, _“I love you, Keiji.”_

“... I know.” Akaashi refuses to meet his gaze.

“It hurts me to see you like this.”

“I know,” he repeats. There’s a brief silence before Konoha starts walking again, heading in the direction of Akaashi’s home. His footsteps are bitter the entire walk, the two of them wordless.

Akaashi knows he isn’t over Bokuto, but he doesn’t want to see him, either. He doesn’t want to speak to him or search for him. He’s fine; he’s comfortable. He’s okay living his life like this because he understands Bokuto isn’t good for him, but it still hurts sometimes. It’s gotten better through the years, but some nights he still lays awake in his bed wondering if the other is doing well. He’s been told people never get over their first love—that it’s not so simple. Feelings are complicated, except the difference, as well as his strength, is that he knows how to separate his heart from his mind. Sometimes he feels like he’s suffocating in the dark waters drowning his heart, but he always knows him and Bokuto are never meant to be, and Akaashi has always listened to his brain. The one time he let his heart guide him, it brought him down a punishing, painful path, and he doesn’t want that again.

Konoha stops outside his residence.

“I will return this to you,” Akaashi says, fingers curled around the twines for handles.

“No, take it. It’s a parting gift.”

“Konoha-san—”

“Please.”

His grip tightens, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He turns and is about to head inside when he hears his name called out from behind him.

“Akaashi.”

There’s a tug on his wrist and suddenly Konoha’s face is inches away, dark eyes staring into his own. One of Akaashi’s hands is raised to press firmly into the other boy’s chest, preventing him from leaning any closer.

“Don’t,” Akaashi states. “I can’t.”

As if suddenly recognizing his mistake, Konoha releases the grip around his wrist and takes a small step back. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“It’s okay,” Akaashi reassures. He feels bad for Konoha, but it’s not right for him to lead him on like that, even if it made him happy just for a few moments. He knows from experience—the days, weeks, possibly _months_ Konoha will spend mulling about what they can be will become agonizing and unbearable.

“Can I hug you?” Konoha asks, but before Akaashi has time to respond he’s already being pulled into a tight embrace: an ocean of warmth in the coldness that constantly swallows Akaashi. “Please stay safe,” he whispers into the shoulder of the black-haired boy’s coat. “Promise you’ll message me when you land?”

Akaashi promises, hand patting the boy in the back. Konoha leaves after watching Akaashi enter his home. He drops the bag next to his packed suitcases, contemplating whether to bring it or not. He slips down onto the floor, pulling it out again. The lid pops off and, with tentative touches, slides its contents out of its neatly-folded position. His thumb traces over the intricate details, nail brushing the stitching of _BokuTrue_ at the neck of the jean jacket. It’s a dark blue under the dim, yellow light of his lamp and the interior is lined with beige sherpa. For minutes, Akaashi sits there, tears streaking into the warmth of the cloth as the moonlight listens to him sing his sorrows.

  
  
  


Springtime sunrises are beautiful in New York. The sky is a blend of purples embracing the brightness of pinks and oranges and yellows where it meets the land. It’s enough to get many people up at seven in the morning every day for a long jog in central park, including Bokuto. The air is crisp and fresh, the green surrounding him a strong reminder of how he ended up in the busyness of New York City with a franchise of his own. Life here is exceptionally different than back in Los Angeles but he loves the change. The only thing he really misses is watching the sunset on the ocean from his Malibu home. He used to sit on his bed facing the balcony doors, breeze from the open sea wisping his white curtains like the smoke from a candlewick after it had been blown out. Sometimes he watched from the balcony. More often than not, he would be nursing a glass of something dark until his head hit the pillows from the way his head spun.

For months, Bokuto wallowed in misery. His muscles had lost their shape, he had grown thinner from not eating properly, and the media had grown concerned with his lack of engagement in social events. For them, too, he never appeared, much like the way a certain boy had disappeared.

Kuroo, despite repeatedly telling him he’s given up on him, had been the one to pull him out, and Bokuto owes his entire life to him. Had it not been for his best friend that night, Bokuto will not be who he is today. It had ended with multiple bruises and a black eye on his end, but he’s grateful. If it had gone any other way, he would still be in his bed, hungover and drunk, crying to a god he didn’t believe in. The black waters had grown a little clearer when he started going back to school.

His marriage with Kirika had lasted four months after she had bursted through his door without warning while he had been cutting through some garments and scared the living daylights out of him. She had said nothing, went straight for the liquor cabinet, and chugged wine straight from the bottle.

Genuinely concerned, he had got up from his spot on the floor to check on her.

“File a divorce,” she had said, fingers curled so tightly around the neck of the bottle her knuckles turned white.

“I can,” he had responded quietly, testing the waters. He had a feeling he knew why. It was never hard to miss the way she smiled at her phone, the affection and care in her voice when she talked throughout the night, or the fact that she bought clothes that never fit her. She was having an affair, just like him—well, as he _did._

“You can tell my parents whatever you want. I’m running off with her,” she cried bitterly, taking another swig out of the bottle. Bokuto had to pry her fingers off with force to get it out of her hand. He had been there before—he knew what it felt like. She had been drowning, had been drowning for so long, now, and she had absolutely no one to talk to.

“I’ll tell them I called for it,” he had explained. Then, shortly after a pause, “What’s her name?”

Kirika sniffled, calming at the thought of her. “Shimizu. What was his?”

Bokuto had frozen, throat drying at the mention of the boy. “Akaashi. We’re not talking anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

And it wasn’t—it still isn't. To this day, Bokuto still regrets it; he still hates that he had been so stupid and selfish because something that didn’t affect him as much hurt the one person he never wanted to let go of. The amount of reflecting he’s done doesn’t measure up to how Akaashi must have felt. It doesn’t make it okay, and he knows that. So he lives with it despite putting a smile on every day, putting one foot ahead of the other again, and again. If fate will have it, they will meet again—as _proper_ adults. He hates that it took him the worst heartbreak known to man and four years of his life to realize how much of a foolish boy he had been back then.

The spray of warm water soothes the fatigue out of his muscles as Bokuto cleans himself fresh after his morning run. He’s buzzing with excitement under his skin—today, he brings in a new line under _BokuTrue._ So far, his clothes have been targeting smaller audiences due to the detail and quality of his brand, resulting in very expensive price tags. This one will be a little different—it’ll be slightly more affordable and exposed to younger adults. It has garnered a _lot_ of attention from the media, which he is thankful for, so he’s definitely not working to disappoint.

Bokuto makes it to work nearly an hour early because he’s looking forward to it so much he couldn’t stay at home. The coffee in his hand is almost empty by the time he makes it to his office. His new line drops in about an hour, so he spends some of his time going through a few documents. He doesn’t focus very well, though, eyes glancing over lines multiple times before fully understanding what they’re saying. The time passes by rather quickly, however, and he’s on his way out of his office when he pauses. His fingers work to pull out his phone but Yachi comes bursting in through his door at that exact moment.

“Bokuto-kun!” she exclaims, visibly flustered. “We need you down here! Everyone’s going crazy because the site crashed. We’re working on getting it up again, but it is _complete chaos_ over there.”

Bokuto blinks, surprised. “It _crashed?”_ That’s the first time it has ever happened.

The floor is in complete disarray, save for Tsukishima who’s observing the scene in a great deal of amusement. Yamaguchi is trying to tell everyone to calm down but nobody really hears him, and Nishinoya is running around the place yelling at the top of his lungs. He’s not really doing anything except adding to the anarchy, which Bokuto assumes he’s doing on purpose. He makes his way over to Shimizu, the leader of the tech support team, who’s working diligently to solve the issue with a level of calmness that brings a sense of relief to Bokuto.

“We’re good,” she says quietly, then looks up to stare at the short boy jumping around. “Nishinoya, shut up.”

“S-Shimizu-san, you’re so cool!” Yachi exclaims, voice cracking nervously from beside Bokuto.

“Thank god,” Bokuto sighs, hand on his forehead. They have a few minutes before the clock hand hits nine. Yachi slides into her spot at the front of the office, hands working furiously as she prepares to release the drop. The office is abnormally silent as everyone waits in nervous anticipation. A single click from Yachi’s mouse sounds and everyone gathers around her screen as it loads.

“We did it,” she whispers with a laugh. “We did it!” Yachi jumps out of her seat, nearly knocking into Bokuto, but he’s too overjoyed to care. The office erupts in a loud cheer with her, Bokuto’s shoulders slumping in satisfaction.

“W-Wait!” a voice speaks up. Yamaguchi is generally really quiet, but he seems to have something extremely important to say to want to have everyone’s attention. The office pipes down curiously, stalking towards his computer. Bokuto makes his way over with strong strides. Did something happen? Is the site back down again?

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned. He takes a peek at Yamaguchi’s screen, eyes widening.

“An item has sold out,” Yamaguchi responds quietly, then proceeds to refresh the page. “Two, now.”

Bokuto is disbelieving. There’s _no way,_ this can’t be right. “It’s been thirty-six seconds.”

“People have been really looking forward to it,” Tsukishima responds uncharacteristically. He doesn’t seem shocked, though, like he had guessed this would happen. “It happens with other popular brands, too.”

Yachi squeals from her seat. Bokuto is exhilarated. “How do we feel about dinner tonight?”

  
  
  


Bokuto makes a quick stop before he heads to the restaurant. After the line dropped and most items sold out within three hours, he had finally gotten the chance to message Semi asking if he had wanted to come along for dinner. He hadn’t really had the chance to thank the boy officially, after everything he’s done for him.

“Semi!” he calls out as he walks up to him. The other boy is talking to someone by the front desk, which he recognizes as Tendou. The familiar red hair is difficult to miss. “Hey, hey, Tendou! Nice to see you, too!”

“Ohh?” Tendou teases with wide eyes, “You’re back again _already?_ Don’t tell you’ve—”

“Shut it, Tendou,” Semi hisses, slapping the boy on the arm gently.

Bokuto laughs, shaking his head. “I haven’t. The morning jogs help a lot. I still do it sometimes, but it’s not as often. You don’t doubt Semi’s skills, do you?” he teases right back, then turns to Semi. “Are you still pining over this idiot?”

“I’m not an idiot!”

Semi flushes with a scowl. “I’m not the single one here, now, am I?”

“Hey! That’s not very nice!” Bokuto responds, pouting. “Tendou, Semi is coming to my company dinner tonight. Will you come, too?”

“Is it meat?” Tendou pretends to ponder.

“Of course,” Bokuto responds excitedly. “I’m treating everyone tonight! Did you know that one of my t-shirts sold out within _seconds?”_

“No way! Really?” Tendou speaks with awe.

Bokuto nods proudly, appreciative of the attention. Semi lifts his head at the sound of someone distant calling his name. They all turn to look at the source—Bokuto’s heart stops. There he stands, frozen, with equally-stunned eyes staring right back into his. Akaashi Keiji, in his flesh and bones, stands just mere metres away from him, and Bokuto Koutarou has no idea what to do.

“Akaashi.” It leaves his mouth before he even registers it, cracked with a heavy hint of heartache.

Semi and Tendou glance at each other briefly to mouth something, but Bokuto doesn’t see. He’s only looking at Akaashi, who hasn’t moved from his spot. He doesn’t know if he’s breathing. His brain isn’t working and there’s a very, very small chance that this isn’t real; that this is all in his head and it’s spinning some fantasy he’s been subconsciously dreaming about.

Akaashi breaks first. His face hardens, eyes narrowed to slits, and he walks toward Bokuto, eyes trained on him. The white-haired boy opens his mouth to say something—except Akaashi walks right past him without an ounce of hesitation.

“Semi-san, Tendou-san,” Akaashi speaks. His voice sounds like it has always been: soft like the prettiest melody, but it’s rough with tension. “Have you clocked out yet?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I was just about to. My friend here has invited us out. Is something wrong?” Semi responds, trying his best to lighten the air with a small smile. He’s nervous, but it’s nothing compared to what Bokuto is feeling. Akaashi’s eyes flicker to him for a second so short Bokuto would have missed if he isn’t staring so intently.

“One of your patients requested for you. You will have to stay longer, if only your friend could wait,” Akaashi explains, refusing to acknowledge him. Bokuto releases a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding in, blinking in wonder. Akaashi feels… terribly distant, even though he’s so close Bokuto can just reach forward and press a hand against the boy’s cheek. His hands won’t move and his knees feel weak.

“Bokuto-san, I will be right back. If you can’t wait, we can go another day,” Semi tells him, then whispers to Tendou to follow him. They’re already down one of the hallways by the time Akaashi turns to leave, too, after staring at each other for what felt like five years.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto repeats breathlessly, not wanting the boy to slip through his fingers—not again. He reaches forward, but Akaashi draws his arm back as if Bokuto will burn him. He doesn’t say a word to him, turns on his heels, and begins to walk away.

However, Bokuto is adamant. He won’t let Akaashi run anymore—he’s been given another chance and he’s so _desperate_ he grasps at it with no hesitation. He throws his arms around the boy’s body, pulling him back into his chest. Akaashi freezes at first but is quick to give his struggle. He’s trapped in the hold, unable to break free.

“Please,” Bokuto begs, face pressed into Akaashi’s shoulder, clad in light blue scrubs, “don’t do this. I can’t do this. I’ve missed you _so much,_ Keiji.” He feels the tears coming and doesn’t bother to hold them back. The rush of emotions hitting him makes him forget who he is and where they are right now. He just knows Akaashi; he just wants the boy back in his life again.

Akaashi has stopped struggling, but he remains frozen solid in Bokuto’s embrace.

“I miss you. I miss you so much. I’ve missed you for years,” Bokuto tells him, arms tightening as if Akaashi would disappear if he let go for even a second. “I messed up, I’m sorry. I know you won’t forgive me but I’m still sorry and I still want you, so,” Bokuto lifts his head, turns Akaashi around to face him even with the ugly tears streaming down his face and the redness in his eyes, “call me selfish. Hit me because I’m a bad person, hate me, slap me, but _please, don’t leave me again.”_

Bokuto suddenly finds himself staring off to the right. It takes him a moment to register the stinging in his cheek and then another to realize Akaashi is crying. He refocuses his gaze to the boy in front of him, whose eyes are shut tightly with his head tilted to the floor.

Semi and Tendou reappear in everyday clothes, footsteps faltering when they catch sight of the black-haired boy. Shocked, Semi stalks over to them and rests a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, who proceeds to shrug it off.

“I’m sorry,” he responds, more to Semi than to Bokuto, “I have work to do.” And then he’s gone. Bokuto attempts to chase after him but someone catches his wrist in a grip so tight he never expected it from someone like Semi.

“Leave him be, Bokuto.” His voice is hard with a warning. “He’s on shift right now.”

They get into Bokuto’s car, the atmosphere tense with no one speaking a word. Semi sits in the passenger side, arms crossed. He breathes heavily, wanting to ask questions but then receding like it isn't a good idea. Bokuto starts the car but doesn’t go yet, unstable hands scrambling through the dashboard of his car. His fingers clasp around something cold and heavy, but Semi catches his wrist and halts his movements before he pulls it toward him.

“You’re going to do that in front of two rehab physicians?” he inquires, eyebrows stitched together, but releases his hold reluctantly when he notices how distressed Bokuto is. He’s flushed, breaths heavy and erratic, and he shakes in his seat.

Bokuto breathes in, smoke coming out of his nose as he rests his head against the steering wheel. He feels bad, especially because Semi works so hard to get him to quit, and he never thought he would need it again, but he does right now.

Semi takes the silence that follows to ask him what’s been bothering both him and Tendou, who sits observing quietly in the backseat, “Is that him?”

Bokuto has never told Semi Akaashi’s name, always referring to him improperly. He knows the stresses he’s lived through; he knows that there had once been someone in Bokuto’s life who made him so happy he took every ounce and drop of it with him when he left. And now he knows it’s Akaashi.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto responds, his voice suddenly very dry. The rush of blood to his brain has calmed him down, but there’s still something he can’t help—this aching, deep throbbing in his chest. “I never thought I’d see him again.”

Semi turns in his seat to face him. “We can talk about this later. When is this dinner party? Are you okay to drive? Would you like me or Tendou to?” Bokuto nods and gets out of his car to swap seats with Semi. The metallic device sits heavy in his hands as Semi drives. He takes another hit before turning it off and shoving it back into his dashboard.

“I love him,” he confesses, head pressed against the window. It’s the first time he’s openly stated it with his own mouth to someone else other than Kuroo.

Semi hums, eyes focused on the road. “I can tell.”

Tendou leans forward, hands clasped on the passenger seat. “Do you want to talk to Akaashi?”

“Does Akaashi want to talk to _me?”_ Now that he thinks about it, Akaashi had refused to say anything earlier. Not a single word. Not even an _I miss you_ or _how have you been?_ and Bokuto doesn’t know if Akaashi wants anything to do with him anymore. He seemed so cold—so _far away_ —and Bokuto hates the fact that he felt like a stranger. No, even worse than a stranger.

“I think you just reopened some old wounds,” Semi tells him. “For you and for him. You have to be a little bit more empathetic here, Bokuto. I’m sure you know, but you aren’t the only hurting. Some things don’t heal with a simple apology. I’ve only known Akaashi for about two months since he started working here, but he seems like he’s dealing with some of his own problems, too.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Bokuto admits, defeated. He really doesn’t. He doesn’t know if he should keep pursuing Akaashi, despite wanting to _so badly._ He doesn’t know if he should just stay away. He doesn’t want to let go if there’s even the slightest chance he can have him again.

They pull up to the restaurant a few minutes early. “I think you guys need more time,” Semi suggests, shutting off the engine. “You guys already met after—what, four years? Seeing each other after that long is already a huge step. Just… take some time to slowly warm up, you know? The feeling of shock and overwhelm is just starting to settle in.”

“Ah, Semi,” Tendou sighs dreamily, “you always give the best advice.”

The mentioned boy shoots the redhead a glare, “I’m saying this as a friend, Bokuto.” He sighs and gets out of the car, the other two following suit. “Either way, I refuse to be the medium between you two, so Tendou and I will watch from the side. It’s something you and Akaashi-san will deal with yourselves. There are no mistakes, Bokuto. There are just better ways to tackle a problem than others.”

Tendou gapes at the interior of the restaurant. “Holy shit! I miss this!” He turns to Semi. “When was the last time we had Japanese?”

“Apparently you have no recollection of last month,” Semi grumbles with a roll of his eyes. Bokuto gives his name to the hostess who flushes immediately upon seeing him (he’s still very well-known everywhere; he may have quit acting ages ago but his movies don’t really disappear) and guides them to a private dining room big enough to host thirty guests. They’re not the first ones there, though. Nishinoya, Tanaka, Yachi, and Shimizu are already here. Nishinoya bounces up on his feet when they see them enter.

“Yo, Bokuto! Semi! Nice to see you again! Who’s this?” he gestures to Tendou, peering down at him with wide eyes. Semi gives him a shove.

“This is Tendou. Unfortunately, he’s my boyfriend,” Semi responds, amused at the way Tendou crosses his arms in displeasure. People begin arriving as they continue to converse. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima arrive reasonably late, as usual (it’s probably Tsukishima’s fault—he never wants to go out), and the dinner party kickstarts with everyone buzzing with the euphoria of the drop which, Yachi has told everyone, has sold out after five hours. Bokuto is mostly silent throughout, however, only putting out quick smiles and comments with feigned enthusiasm when spoken to. Semi and Tendou do most of the talking for him since they’re fully aware of his dreariness caused by earlier events.

Bokuto drives Tendou and Semi home after dinner and then heads home himself. That night, he lays awake for hours, doesn’t fall asleep until sometime around four in the morning, and wakes up three hours later from a bad dream. He reaches for the familiar device sitting on his bedside table again, lets the smoke fill his lungs, and collapses back into his pillows. The wisps dance toward the ceiling when he exhales it out, and he wonders if Akaashi is hurting just as badly as he is right now.

  
  
  


Semi calls him to the centre two weeks after he had run into Akaashi. At first, he refused to go, not wanting to make the other uncomfortable, but Semi always has a way of convincing him, claiming it’s for his mental health and all—which it _is,_ he knows. Bokuto sits in his car, parked and engine off, for ten minutes. Semi has warned that Akaashi has a shift today, that he might see him again, but also reminded him of their conversation that night. He doesn’t know if he’s ready—worst, he doesn’t know if Akaashi is.

The phone goes off, breaking the silence and startling Bokuto to the point of actually dropping it. He curses as he bends forward, hand scrambling blindly until it hits the vibrating device. He raises it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Where are you? Hurry up, I have some stuff to do after,” Semi speaks then hangs up.

Reluctantly, Bokuto gets out of his car, locks it, and makes his way inside. His hands are sweaty and he might be shaking a little, so he shoves them into his pockets. He keeps his gaze forward, head tilted down so that he doesn’t grab too much attention. Fortunately—unfortunately?—he doesn’t see Akaashi at all, and he slides into one of the chairs in Semi’s office with a heavy sigh.

“How are you?” Semi starts, as always.

“Fine,” Bokuto responds, fingertips pressing into his thighs.

“What did you have for breakfast?”

“I didn’t eat today,” Bokuto admits, half-hoping the boy doesn’t hear. Semi slides his seat forward a little more.

“I’ll go grab a snack from the staffroom,” he offers.

Bokuto sits up, shaking his head. “No, that’s fine—”

“Too bad, can’t hear you, _lalala,”_ Semi interrupts, fingers shoved into his ears as he gets up. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t steal anything, yeah?”

Bokuto snorts and lets him go, slumping back into the back of his seat. He takes in the familiarity of Semi’s office: the bookshelves lined with different books and little gadgets here and there where there are spaces. Nothing has changed except for the photo of him and Tendou smiling in a photo, holding up peace signs. That’s new—probably because Semi refused to do anything about his feelings the whole time he had been helping Bokuto through his addiction. He’s glad they figured things out, though. At least that’s _two_ fewer people in the world dealing with stupid romantic feelings—

“Semi-san?” There’s a muffled, scarily familiar voice and a couple of knocks, and then the door swings open. Akaashi walks in, not fully recognizing Bokuto is sitting there, staring at him, until he does.

Akaashi stares, eyebrows raised in surprise. He’s back to keeping his regular expression again, cold and void of emotion, and he takes a step back. “I apologize for intruding, I had not realized he had a patient—”

“Can we talk?” Bokuto asks, standing up and taking a step forward until he’s a mere foot away. Akaashi swallows, jaw tensing, but doesn’t look away. He’s holding up well, Bokuto thinks, but he knows Akaashi wants to turn and run. He can read Akaashi like an open book and he _knows_ the black-haired boy is strong, but not strong enough to hide everything.

“I’m just a nurse,” he responds quietly, voice cracking. He clears his throat, finally dropping his gaze. “You can talk to Semi. He’s your physician.”

“No,” Bokuto speaks. “I don’t want to talk to a nurse. I want to talk to Akaashi Keiji.”

As if sensing there’s no way to deflect Bokuto’s intentions, Akaashi gives in hesitantly, “My shift ends in an hour.” Akaashi walks away, leaving Bokuto whose heart has skipped a beat, throat tightening painfully. This is a step, as Semi had said. He can do this, right? He can do this.

Semi reappears with a bottle of apple juice and a bag of pretzels shortly after Akaashi leaves. “Sorry, it isn’t much. I won’t keep you here for long, so make sure you eat properly after, okay?”

Bokuto thanks him and Semi takes a seat again.

“When was the last time you had nicotine?”

“Today,” Bokuto admits, looking away.

Semi sighs. “Bokuto, I’m not upset. Please don’t feel like I am angry with you. Just because you’ve used it doesn’t mean you’ve failed.” Bokuto knows—Semi always tells him that—but he still feels bad. His urges have been really strong lately and they both know why. It’s probably why Semi suggested a check-in. “Have you had any encounter with Akaashi-san since last time?”

Bokuto glances back up, mouth falling open before snapping closed. He should tell him, right? He can give suggestions as to what he can do. “Um, just now, actually.”

Semi’s eyebrows raise. “What happened?”

“He said we can talk.”

“Do you feel any urges right now?”

Bokuto blinks, surprised. He doesn’t. He’s nervous, yes, but he’s not craving it. “No.”

“That’s good! This small step with Akaashi can be good,” Semi tells him. “Hey, it’s okay. Take it slow. Things like these take time and effort to build back. It’s progress. You might not be satisfied today or tomorrow, but you understand that you’re working towards something, right?”

Bokuto nods. He understands. He has been patient, has been waiting for years—he can still wait. Truthfully, for Akaashi, he can wait forever. He just doesn’t know if he _wants_ to.

Their appointment ends after a few more questions general to Bokuto’s wellbeing. Semi stands up, tells him to make an appointment in another two weeks, and then dismisses him. Bokuto is vibrating under his skin—what should he say? Should he apologize? Should he explain everything that’s happened in the past four years? No, that’s too much. Where are they going to be talking?

He dwells over it as he sits in one of the lounge chairs near the entrance. He keeps looking up at the hallways thinking Akaashi will appear, but he still has another thirty minutes until he’s off his shift. Should he get something to eat? But he isn’t hungry. But he _should_ eat, right? But what if Akaashi comes out earlier and leaves because he isn’t there? In the end, he sits there for the remaining duration, which honestly feels like hours, but the sight of Akaashi walking towards him in his everyday clothes steals the breath from him like a punch and a kick.

He stops in front of Bokuto. “Let’s go outside,” he tells him before walking past him and out the entrance doors. Bokuto jumps to his feet, pursuing after the other boy. Akaashi stands off to the side so that he doesn’t block the entrance, glancing at the watch around his wrist.

“I have five minutes. What would you like to talk about?”

Bokuto stutters over what to say. “I—um, I didn’t think that far.”

Akaashi stares at him, the look on his face unchanging.

“I-I guess what I really want to know is how you’ve been?” he asks, sheepish. “I don’t know where you’ve been these past few years but, uh, I hope you’ve been doing well.”

“I’ve been well,” Akaashi responds naturally. “I finished my studies and I work as a nurse at this rehabilitation centre. How… have you been?” Up until now, he has been holding up an expression typical of himself when dealing with many people (Bokuto knows every colour that Akaashi has, hidden underneath that facade) but he drops his gaze shyly after that question.

“I’ve been okay,” he tells him.

Akaashi looks like he’s trying to resist a small smile, corners of his lips curling just slightly. “Is that so? Is that why you’re going to rehab?”

Bokuto’s eyebrows raise so high they almost reach his hairline. “N-No! I mean, yes, but no, I—I’ve been doing… better, I think. Where did you go? After—after, uh, that…”

“I was in Japan. I came here about two months ago for this job. Are you here for work?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto nods, hand raised to rub at his neck awkwardly. “I quit acting. I finished my studies, too. And then I opened up an online store and it kinda just… went from there, I guess.”

Akaashi nods slowly with a hum. He’s looking toward the parking lot. He probably doesn’t really want to meet Bokuto’s intense gaze. “That’s very nice to hear, Bokuto-san.”

A short silence follows, neither of them knowing what to say next. When Akaashi glances at his watch again, Bokuto speaks up urgently, “Did you, um, want to grab a coffee this weekend? I mean, tea because you don’t really like coffee. I’ll have coffee.”

Akaashi hesitates at first but agrees. “I’ve changed my number. If you have a pen and paper, I could give you my new one.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen and he shakes his head with an excited smile, pulling his phone out and handing it to him. “No worries! You can just put it in here.”

Akaashi accepts it, fingers gliding across the screen. His expression falters for a bit, thumb stilling when he sees that Bokuto has never deleted his old contact. He returns it after editing his new number in place. Bokuto thanks him enthusiastically. Has he always been this cheerful? It feels like he’s grown a lot since then, but there’s almost a child-like characteristic that’s never been apparent before. Akaashi doesn’t know how to feel about it, but he doesn’t exactly hate it.

“I should head home. I have to feed my cat,” Akaashi says.

Bokuto gapes in awe. “You have a _cat?”_

“Yeah,” Akaashi offers a tiny smile. “It was nice to talk to you again.”

“Y-You too!” Bokuto exclaims, slightly flustered. He watches Akaashi walk towards the parking lot. His fingers curl tightly around his phone. This is progress. This is good. They will get somewhere again. They can build their relationship back up from the ground after going through heartbreak. It’s possible—it’s been done before.

Years ago, he couldn’t have done this. He didn’t have the patience to wait—twenty-four-year-old Bokuto needed the gratifying results when he wanted them and would achieve them by selfish means without regard for all the consequences. Twenty-three-year-old Akaashi would have run away, refusing to give anyone a chance again, after being hurt. For the two, loving back then had been easy, simple, and innocuous until they realized it’s really nothing like that.

Love is difficult and the path is full of thorns and unforeseen circumstances. Bokuto doesn’t want to run from it anymore—he wants to pursue it. It took them four years, but he realizes, now, that it isn’t lost time. It’s time meant for mending so that they can build something better; something _stronger._

So while Bokuto watches Akaashi’s car soar down the New York streets, he thinks about the confidence and hopefulness blossoming in the broadness of his chest; thinks about the way his fingers and toes tingle in optimism for a radiant future, for Akaashi Keiji is worth every single second of his efforts.

Without the Hollywood lights and flashing cameras—without the desire for immediate pleasure and synthetic poison—Bokuto knows that _this_ is the happiest he’s ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS OFFICIALLY THE END OF THE PROJECT!
> 
> i can add a short, fifth chapter as a peek into their future if people are interested!
> 
> there also will be a short kuroken spin-off coming eventually!
> 
> thank you to everyone who spent their time reading this!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, a really short epilogue. there's NO ANGST, i promise! just One (1) butt-clenching moment and the rest is fluff.

It’s mornings like these that allow for Bokuto to ponder.

His eyes linger on the high ceiling of his bedroom swallowed in darkness for nobody to witness except for himself and all the little inanimate figurines he has on his shelves. Everything comes fast and all at once—the past months he’s spent seeing Akaashi every day after work, the amount of coffee and tea dates, and  _ hours  _ spent texting and calling. Then, there’s also the fact that it’s _today_. He doesn’t know what to focus on. The excitement under his bones settles in hot, rising to the highs of his cheeks and overwhelming him dizzy. With a toss of his blankets he is upright, feet planted on hardwood so cold it rivals the winter pavement.

It’s Christmas Day and Bokuto is going to do it.

The majority of the afternoon is spent in a frenzy with preparations of dinner, pacing around the apartment to make sure everything there isn't anything out of place laying around, and constant worrying over whether or not everything is  _ perfect _ —he needs it to be; he doesn’t want a second chance  _ (third chance,  _ in retrospect) at this and he wants to do it  _ right. _

By the time six o'clock as rolled around, Bokuto is of jittery nerves, anticipating every sound coming from the direction of the door as Akaashi's arrival. He waits five minutes, then ten, and fifteen. The knock at the door comes another five later and it shakes Bokuto as a sudden wave of nervousness inches its way down his spine. He scurries to the front door, peeking a quick glance in the mirror to smoothen out his dress shirt because he needs to look  _ good. _ Akaashi stands there with a small smile when he swings the door open coolly, a fluffy Santa hat sitting at the top of his head with another one in his hand, outstretched for Bokuto to take.

“Hi,” Akaashi says.

Bokuto releases a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding because Akaashi looks  _ beautiful  _ in blue stain and black slacks. It’s so simple yet captivating like the view of a shore and its ocean under the setting sun. He wants to kiss him right now.

But he can’t. He won’t—not until he’s sure Akaashi is ready for him again.

“Santa hats?” Bokuto asks stupidly, his hand closing around the soft material. Akaashi tilts his head to the side so that the white ball of fluff at the end dips down with him.

“For the Christmas spirit, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto blinks, then attempts to slip the hat over his head which fails dramatically with the way his hair is gelled up. Akaashi laughs and slides his own hat off his head. “We don’t have to wear it.”

“I wanted to,” Bokuto grumbles and steps back to allow Akaashi into his apartment. It’s the first time he’s been here despite having spent so much time together the past few months. It’s been nearly nine months but they haven’t really stepped much into each other’s personal lives, although they do tend to have long discussions deep into the night about them. If Bokuto can have it any other way, he will—but simply seeing and having Akaashi by his side satisfies him to a tolerable extent.

It doesn’t change the fact that he still wants to kiss him and hold him and wake up every morning next to him, though.

“Am I early?” Akaashi asks, allowing his gaze to sweep the vacancy of the living room. Bokuto had hung pretty lights up on the walls a week ago, the large Christmas tree with the various ornaments way before that. It’s heartwarming, a stark contrast to the biting coldness and howling wind sweeping up the dust of loose snowflakes outside on the white streets.

“You’re actually a little late,” Bokuto comments, sliding two wine glasses out of the holder before setting them gently down on the black-and-white-blended marble, the pitched clicks upon soft impact barely registered from the quiet Christmas jazz spilling out with leisure from the Bluetooth speakers he had installed above their crowns.

Akaashi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes dropping from Bokuto’s face to the hands working on getting the cork out of an expensive dark bottle. “I thought you said this was a Christmas party. Where is everyone else?”

Bokuto pauses, eyes flickering up to meet slanted ones in a moment of shy brevity, before tilting redness downwards. It comes out in a controlled stream, motions rehearsed like he’s done this as many times as he’s brushed his teeth. “I only invited you.”

“Oh.”

With swiftness, he picks up the glasses and makes his way around the island counter to set one down in front of the raven-haired boy. Akaashi slips his jacket off, which Bokuto offers to hang up for him.

“It’s your jacket,” Akaashi comments, wine rotating in his grip. He watches the liquid drip down slowly along the edge.

Bokuto shuts the closet doors. “I noticed when you came in. When did you get it?”

“When I was in Japan.”

He’s unable to constrain the excitement in his voice.  _ “Really?” _

“A friend gifted it to me.” Akaashi scents out the wine before raising the velvety smoothness to his lips. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be fond of wine now, but I suppose you’ve changed a lot over the past few years.”

Bokuto snorts at the comment and  Akaashi continues after sliding into a bar stool. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you drink, but I would have expected to see you with a glass of brandy or bourbon.”

The white-haired boy sidles up next to Akaashi but doesn’t take a seat. “I mean, I still drink it sometimes but wine had definitely been an acquired taste for me.” There’s a short moment of silence as Bokuto ponders over something with stitched eyebrows and tightened lips. “Is it a good change?”

“Pardon?”

“When you said I changed over the years,” Bokuto clarifies, straightening out, “is it a good change?” He doesn’t know if he’s mentally prepared to hear Akaashi’s answer as anxiety prickles over his skin.

“I think so,” Akaashi responds, voice a little gentler like he’s unsure himself. “I feel like we’ve both grown and I suppose that’s a good thing.”

When Bokuto’s eyes land on Akaashi’s eyes, his own searching for any secret little lies that may be hiding behind those pretty, gunmetal blue irises, he feels his shoulders relax at the small smile lined along pretty lips.

And Bokuto agrees.

They eat dinner over comfortable chatter and reminisce the distant, but never forgotten, memories from their younger days with jovial laughter, a cozy atmosphere sinking into their bones as the alcohol opens them up to complacency.

(“Do you remember when I accidentally knocked over that painting because I got my head stuck in one of your shirts?”

“There were  _ buttons,  _ Bokuto-san. That painting was also very expensive.”)

When Bokuto asks what had happened to it after Akaashi moved out, he learns that he had gifted it to his mother after having nowhere else to put it. When dinner is done and they've gone through nearly the entire bottle of wine, Bokuto puts all the dirty dishes away with the genuine compliment of his cooking from the other boy. Afterwards, he invites him out to the living room for a dance and Akaashi is too comfortable to say no.

“Is this weird?” Bokuto asks, breath over the other boy’s temple as they move in rhythm to the music. His hands are sweaty as they rest gently over Akaashi’s hips. He’s nervous and the beating of his heart rivals the way a marching band percussionist rips down into their drums—and Bokuto all but hopes the other boy doesn’t notice with the way they have their chests pressed into each other.

“Not at all,” Akaashi says, melting into the touch. They stay like that for a few minutes, feet shuffling slowly and Bokuto’s baritone voice floating airily throughout the open space as he sings along to the song. They might be a little bit tipsy but there’s no denying the electricity coursing through Bokuto’s veins or the fact that Akaashi’s lips are so,  _ so  _ close to his he can kiss him if he just turns his head a little bit more—

“Bokuto-san.”

He blinks out of his thoughts. “Huh?”

“What are you thinking about?”

The question catches him off guard and Bokuto’s throat dries with words caught behind. What is he supposed to say? That he was dreaming about kissing Akaashi in the middle of his living room with the lights on his Christmas tree flickering amongst their presets and Chet Baker playing in the background?

He hears the sigh leaves Akaashi lips, registers it so fast his head spins from more than just the liquor. Akaashi's face shows a grimace of thought that Bokuto _knows_ can't be good. His breath hitches.

“I was thinking—”

“No,” Bokuto cuts him off, “wait.” What is this feeling? Why does it feel like his heart has just dropped five thousand feet and planted flat at the pit of his stomach? Akaashi’s sigh is definitely not a favourable one. It sounds… tense, like has been waiting a really long time to tell Bokuto something he couldn’t have voiced aloud until  _ now,  _ and—no, no,  _ no,  _ Bokuto is  _ not ready  _ for any kind of rejection. Not when he’s  _ so close _ .

“As I was saying—”

“Wait,” Bokuto interrupts again, movements halted as he pulls back with eyes reflecting a worry so deep it’s impossible the other boy doesn’t notice, “I—I have to do something.”

He’s in his room before he can even catch onto Akaashi’s call, the beats of his heart thundering with the rush of blood in his ears. He scrambles in the darkness, hands groping blindly at his bedside table until his hand closes around it—it’s exactly where he last has it. He’s sweating, he thinks, shirt glued to his body like papers stacked on top of one another, by the time he's back out in the living room. Akaashi looks gorgeous standing there and the lights blink down innocently, unaware of the turmoil slowly building up inside him.

“Akaashi,” he speaks out, voice slightly gravelly from uneasiness. His footsteps fall short and come to a full stop just a couple of metres away. They speak the language of adverted gazes and hesitant feelings.

Bokuto holds the dark blue, velvet casing in his hands, chin dropping down to suck in a sharp breath. This isn’t how he has planned for it to go but he’ll much rather do it now than risk Akaashi leaving him again. Bokuto is not an expert in reading body language and tensions, not at all, but he knows Akaashi had been of uncertainty and indecisiveness.

The wordlessness between them sits heavy as Bokuto pops the lid open. Shaky hands dip forward to detach a bold, dark silver band from its plush cushion, fit perfect for Akaashi’s finger. It’s simple and sleek, an unpatterned ring Bokuto remembers picking out months ago.

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi whispers, eyes widened in surprise as the situation fully sets down on him like light raindrops turning into a thunderstorm.

“Please let me treat you right, Keiji.” Bokuto hardly recognizes his own voice. It’s almost pleading. He’s supposed to be bolder—this is supposed to go the way he had prepared for it to. They’re supposed to dance and Bokuto is going to ask him to wait there, reappear in full commitment and confidently ask him to be his  _ forever.  _ He had planned to seal it off with a kiss so sweet it’s a promise and Akaashi is going to spend the night here, and then tomorrow night, and then maybe choose to move in with him the night after.

That’s how it’s supposed to go.

Except it doesn’t because Akaashi stays rooted in the spot, dark eyes staring so urgently into his he doesn’t recognize the sudden warmth against his lips in the short second that passes, the soft bump of their noses, and slender fingers closing over his arms with a grip so tight it’s almost threatening.

“I’m not leaving,” Akaashi mumbles against his lips, apples of his cheeks blossoming in a dusty sunset pink. He presses their foreheads together, thumb brushing softly over Bokuto’s skin that has lost its tan ever since the New York winter caved in upon the vast city.

“Akaashi, I… I thought—”

“Shh,” he hushes quietly. Bokuto feels the glide of Akaashi’s knuckle against his cheek before he even realizes he’s crying. Akaashi blends with the champagne fairy lights in the back, vision blurring, and he has to tilt his head down to prevent any more wetness from dripping off his chin.

“Koutarou, look at me.” Akaashi’s voice is soft and careful like he’ll break something if he raises his volume even the slightest bit. Fingers curl around his chin, bring his face back up, and Akaashi is gifting him another kiss, this time open-mouthed. It starts languidly like he’s trying to soak up everything Bokuto has to offer and, when Bokuto finally begins to kiss back, it grows into a more heated rhythm; they’ve missed each other for so long and this— _ this _ is all that’s needed to soothe Bokuto’s long-aching heart and yearning thoughts.

“I love you,” Bokuto speaks, voice rushed when they pull apart. “I love you so much.”

“I know,” Akaashi muses. His other hand cups over the ring in Bokuto’s hand and pushes it down. “I can’t believe you’re proposing to me when we’re not even dating.”

“It’s because I love you!” Bokuto insists, a small bout of embarrassed laughter (it sounds more like a whimper) escaping from his throat while his arm comes up to rub at his teary eyes. He feels silly for crying but he’s okay, he thinks, even with his vulnerability out for and exposed to the other boy. He’ll give the world if it means Akaashi will stay.

“I love you too,” Akaashi responds and leans in once more having waited years to do this again, but Bokuto’s hand comes up to hold him in place.

“But are you going to say yes?”

“What?”

“Will you marry me?”

Akaashi breaks into the prettiest smile Bokuto has ever seen and he thinks he might cry again. He waits with bated breath, his heart half-full with the way the other tosses his head back and laughs as if Bokuto has just told him the most humouring story, but when he looks back down, smile wide and genuine and eyes so _full of love,_ Bokuto thinks he already knows the answer.

The simple word leaves Akaashi’s mouth so easily it's like he's had it prepared at the back of his tongue for months and Bokuto wastes no time in closing the gap between them. In another life, the potential of their meeting might have been easier, with less heartache, and down a path less thorny than their current one had been but, in this one, Bokuto is glad he has spent the last five years of his life waiting for someone he is certain will be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be posting more bokuaka for my future works but please expect a lot of rare semi pairings coming too because i love semi kek  
> anyways, i hope this sufficed! i really don't intend to drag this on any longer than this and i find that the previous chapter had been a suitable ending for my craft, but i decided to end it with this knowing some of you wanted a little bit more!
> 
> thank you all for your support <3
> 
> twt: @milkocaine (18+ / no minors)  
> ig: @confettitty


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